Let It Bleed
by elviswhataguy
Summary: Willow/Faith. Our journey through the Wickedgeekyverse begins. Follows on from season seven; everything that happened on the show happened here. Contains a couple of brief references/allusions to events depicted in Angel seasons one and four, but otherwise the 'verse is BtVS all the way, baby! Best read if you're a Buffy-tragic. Slow burn but, hopefully, worth it.
1. Prologue: Coming Down Again

**N.B.:** Part of this here work was inspired by what was apparently a proposed, yet ultimately discarded, storyline for season seven regarding a wish that Buffy makes. However, it veers from the show's planned storyline pretty much straight away. In addition, while this epic began many years ago (I kid you not), I believe that, where the title story is concerned, a similar scenario with regards to one particular aspect of the events depicted turned up in the 'season eight' comic; but, since it was bound to come up at some point and, again I believe, the contexts are radically different, I'm not overly concerned.

**Also**: It should be clear that the attitudes/opinions/thoughts expressed herein belong to the characters and do not necessarily reflect my own attitudes, etc.. Indeed, some of them I even vehemently disagree with! These attitudes/opinions/thoughts may also include, or be depicted by recourse to, some potentially 'offensive' or 'disturbing' material and/or language.

**Poetry excerpts and song lyrics taken from: **_Hymn to Aphrodite_ (Sappho, literal translation by Henry T. Wharton); _I'm Not a Juvenile Delinquent_ (words & music by George Goldner); _Anyplace is Paradise_ (words & music by Joe Thomas); _Smiles_ (words & music by Lou Reed).

**Thanks to:** mphoenix, frogfarm, somercet, and Ian M.

* * *

**LET IT BLEED**

_In which,_

_in the interests of maintaining the balance_

_of the cosmic veracity that is the __Buffyverse__,_

_what was so obviously set to pass does, indeed, come to pass,_

_whereby the characters of __Willow__ and __Faith_

_are righteously brought together_

_in that manner that we know to be true_

_in our hearts and in our minds,_

_while a few gentle adventures of the spooky variety ensue._

_No, really._

* * *

_"Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot."_

Mark Twain, 'Notice'_,_ Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

_"You've got my vote."_

The last words spoken by Willow to Faith in the television series. Oh, yes.

* * *

**PROLOGUE: COMING DOWN AGAIN**

**May 2003**

"Got a dollar?"

Willow looked up to where Faith stood in front of her, hands shoved as deep as possible inside the front pockets of her jeans. The Slayer's feet shifted awkwardly as she tilted her head back in the direction of the vending machine in the corner.

"Mouth's dry as dirt and I think the bar's shut." Faith smiled, noticeably – notably – abashed, despite the joke.

"Sorry, I don't have anything on me." Willow glanced down the hallway. "Kennedy should be back in a minute. She's got money."

The smile turned into something Willow was more used to associating with the other woman. "So I heard."

Faith slumped down on the seat beside Willow and folded her arms. She stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing her ankles.

"How d'ya swing that one, anyhow?"

"Swing what?" But, Willow knew what she meant, hence the irritation she heard in her own voice. Faith must have heard it too, but it didn't stop her.

"You know, _my girlfriend's got a bigger yacht than your girlfriend_."

"I didn't 'swing' anything."

Faith gave her a quick once-over, openly sneaky, flirty. "Not even a little bit?"

Willow sighed, partly to cover up the blush, partly to stop herself from smiling because it _was_ sorta funny.

Faith pounced on the _almost_ look of amusement. "Always figured you were a sly one. Chicks really dig that _who me?_ shit."

"And you would be shutting up now because this is probably headed somewhere even you don't want to go."

Faith reared back in mock-surprise. "Ooh, a challenge."

"No, a word of advice." Willow looked at her. "I'm tired, kinda cranky, a little hungry, soon to be a _lot_ hungry, and my girlfriend's disappeared while she's supposed to be getting food for us so we don't have to eat the nutritious-but-inedible crap they're serving in the cafeteria. I don't need to hear a bunch of pointless-but-sure-to-be-amusing jokes about how the quiet ones are the worst or … or how I just got lucky 'cause nerds are in again this year."

The mock parted company with the surprise. "Whoa, you're really missin' that Big Mac rush, aren'tcha?"

Willow looked away again. Maybe she was. Or maybe it was because out of everyone she'd ever known, Faith was always the person most likely to be on the receiving end of her bitchy streak. Before now, usually behind her back or in the presence of (under the protection of) Buffy, but she didn't need that kind of distance anymore. And not just because she had more power than most people could even hope to comprehend.

"I'm sorry," said Willow. "Guess that was the cranky part comin' out."

"Nah, I shouldn'ta said that. Bad joke."

And there was the other reason: The woman – girl – Willow had known all those years ago would never have admitted she might have taken a joke too far or that she'd come _this_ close to hurting Willow's feelings by reminding her that, despite everything, she was always gonna be 'the dorky one' as far as some people were concerned. And being bitchy to a former sociopath who was no longer a threat to her, in any shape or form, was kinda mean and maybe even a little on the cowardly side. Willow should pick on someone her own size.

They sat in silence for the next three or four minutes, Faith slouched down on the cushioned seat, crossing her arms and shutting her eyes for a few seconds at a time, while, every so often, Willow glanced at the clock on the wall of the waiting area.

Then suddenly, the Slayer sat up straight again and drew a breath, as though stirring herself into wakefulness. She yawned silently and stretched a little. "So, that was some scuffle, huh?"

Willow held back a smile. _How to make the battle with the ultimate evil sound like a round of schoolyard fisticuffs_. "I didn't see too much of it from where I was, but, yeah."

The Slayer's eyebrows drew together, her lower lip jutting out. The type of expression Willow remembered seeing just a few days before, when Buffy left – had been banished from – the house and Faith had been left in charge.

"It _is_ a choice, right?"

"Sorry?"

"All those girls?"

For a short second, Willow didn't understand. Then, catching on, she nodded vigorously. "Oh, yeah. I mean, some of them might be a little surprised, but they want it. They want to be like you and Buffy."

The Slayer returned a quiet, shaky laugh. "Killin' people and screwing vamps?"

Caught between a deluge of triggered responses – sympathetic guilt, sympathy on its own, and non-sympathetic annoyance – Willow ignored the grim not-quite-joke and went for reassuring gravity: "We wouldn't have done it otherwise."

Faith hesitated, turning the assertion over, examining it for cracks of insincerity or perhaps even an outright lie. Finally, she nodded, satisfied, and the smile she directed at Willow might have been blinding, except she still looked worn out. "Guess that makes you the big cheese around here then."

Willow conducted her own quick examination, but there was no malice in the teasing. She looked at the Slayer, curious. "So, what does that make everyone else?"

A shrug, then a grin as Faith wriggled down into the seat again and her eyes fell shut once more. "Dunno … Kraft slices?"

Willow smiled slightly. Yeah, pick on someone her own size.

Except there was no one her own size anymore.


	2. Preludes: We Love You

**PRELUDES: WE LOVE YOU**

**July 2003**

Faith wanted her own room.

"But, aren't you — I mean, you and Robin ..."

The other Slayer raised an eyebrow. "When we start plannin' the wedding, I'll let you know."

Buffy smiled, though she'd have rather scowled at Faith instead for making her feel like a naive, idealistic moron. "I was only thinking about convenience. The last thing we want is for you to have to exert yourself when you want to ... exert yourself."

Faith pushed open the door of the room they'd stopped outside at the end of the upstairs hallway. She and Buffy stuck their heads inside.

"Nice," said Faith, as they entered the room.

Buffy shrugged. A small double bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers – all Shaker style, from a catalogue probably. The walls were a washed-out peach color, and a small window looked out onto the parking area at the front of the house, already occupied by an old – but apparently reliable – pick-up, an almost-new SUV, and a small jeep ('one-previous-owner-only').

It was a decent room – and, like the others, it had its own bathroom – but 'nice' was maybe stretching it. Although, Buffy supposed, maybe it _was_ nice if you'd spent three years in a prison cell and plenty of previous time in cheap motels.

"Don't you want something bigger?" she asked. "That room across the hall next to mine hasn't been snagged yet."

"Nah, this'll do."

Faith sat down on the edge of the bed and bounced lightly up and down a couple of times, pressing her fingers into the mattress, testing it. Buffy turned at the sound of a quiet creak on the floor of the hallway behind her.

Willow peered over Buffy's shoulder.

"This is your room?" she asked Faith. The other Slayer stopped bouncing and nodded. "Don't you want something bigger?" Willow looked at Buffy. "That room next to yours —"

Faith grinned. "Nah, this is cool. Kinda ... spartan, but it's fine."

When Buffy went to Faith's room a month later to see if she wanted to go to the club they'd seen advertised in the local newspaper, apart from a pair of boots on the floor and different bed linen, it looked exactly the same as when she'd first seen it.

Like an anonymous guest room.

* * *

**July 2003**

"... and we can send the girls here for special training. The facilities just aren't there in Cleveland yet and, this way, you can take them out in the field, let them get to know the work, rather than trying to train them in the middle of a metropolitan area." Giles paused as Buffy nodded. He turned in his seat and smiled. "What do you think, Faith?"

They'd been in the library for two hours now, going over plans for the house, Giles and B asking for her thoughts and opinions, not once mentioning she was an undereducated ex-con murderer who'd tried to screw them all over time and time again. She swallowed back her first response: to ask if they were fucked in the head for treating her like someone they could trust now that the immediate threat of world destruction was over, now that they weren't so desperate for help. Instead, she said:

"Sure you're okay with the Hellmouth sitch?"

"Yes, as far as Hellmouths go, this one's rather tame." Giles flashed his 'funny' smile. "Vi, Rona and some of the other more experienced Slayers are taking care of day-to-day activities. There's no doubt we'll need some direct help on occasion, but the work you and Buffy do with the new girls here will be invaluable."

"But, if you'd rather go to Cleveland, Faith ..."

And, Christ, she looked almost disappointed at the thought. Faith wondered if Her Royal Buffyness should start wearing little message-buttons on her shirt, help her keep track. _Today I'm feeling like ... I don't hate you_. Faith could borrow them for herself too.

Since the move, she'd been privately debating with herself whether to stay with the Scoobies and accept the responsibilities they were offering her, not to mention full pay and benefits. Her record was currently being 'adjusted', thanks to some maneuvers Giles and Willow were pulling, so the opportunity was there for her to hotfoot it elsewhere, carry on fighting the good fight alone. Robin's promised 'surprise' so far was mainly that he hadn't died after the final Sunnydale battle. So, not much incentive there.

But, here they were: Giles and B asking for her ideas, encouraging her to stay and work alongside the Chosen One training newbies, willing to let bygones be bygones. Whatever the fuck bygones were.

"No, I'll stay here," Faith said. So long as Buffy didn't get on her tits too much, it would be okay. Besides, if things got too heavy, she could always bail.

Buffy and Giles smiled and Faith suddenly wished she'd picked a better room after all.

The library door opened and Willow stuck her head in. "You guys finished? I need Faith."

Buffy shrugged and Giles nodded as Willow came into the room, laptop under one arm, her other hand holding onto a camera.

Faith grinned when she saw the equipment. "We gonna do it now?"

Willow nodded and set the computer on the desk.

"Alright!" Faith pushed her chair back and stood up. "Here?"

"Yeah, against that wall?"

Buffy frowned and looked at Giles, who shrugged in reply. Faith caught the exchange and glanced at Willow, who was fiddling with the camera's mechanism, a little humming noise starting up as she reached down absently and turned on the laptop.

"So, how much d'you want me to take off? You said these are just for your personal use, right?"

Buffy's eyes widened, Giles coughed and Willow looked up sharply. If Faith had hoped for a red-faced, stammering explanation-come-denial, Willow was apparently ready for it. Girl didn't even blink and the color that rose on her cheeks was minimal. Willow cleared her throat and a tiny smile appeared.

"Oh, whatever you're comfortable with, but I was thinkin' we could maybe try the 'responsible adult' look first?"

"Whatever you say." Faith grinned and stood beside the wall, while Willow turned to Giles and Buffy.

"Driver's license," Willow explained.

"_Ohhh_," Buffy and Giles said together.

Willow lifted the camera eye-level. "We can do smiley, frowny, and in-betweeny. Ready?"

Five minutes later, smiley lost out to in-betweeny by three-to-one. Frowny was a non-starter, smiley was 'nice', but in-betweeny less likely to draw attention.

"Relatively speaking," said Faith, giving Buffy a nudge.

"Of course," said Buffy.

When Giles and Buffy left, Faith pulled up a chair alongside Willow and watched her put the I.D. together.

Willow gave a little sigh as she put the photograph into position. "I still think we coulda gone with smiley."

* * *

**July 2003**

"Pass the bread? Willow? Please?"

Willow looked up and lifted the basket of bread across the table. Faith gave her a polite 'thank you' smile and took it from her, then turned to Buffy, who sat at the end of the dining table.

"We got any milk, B?"

"Milk? At dinner?"

"Yeah, I want a glass of milk."

"So, what do I look like – a milkmaid?"

"Well, the braids don't help."

Buffy scowled and touched her pigtails just a tad self-consciously. Which was enough for Faith to zero in:

"It's not like I'm askin' you to put down your pail to go check …"

Dawn giggled then looked at her sister. "Sorry."

Buffy sighed. "Yes, Faith, I believe there's some milk in the fridge."

"You couldn't have just said so? Fuck's sake …"

"Please don't swear at the table."

"I wasn't swearing _at_ the table, B. I got nothing _against_ the table."

"You know what I mean …"

Willow winced as Faith scraped back her chair with a squeak and headed across the wooden floor toward the kitchen; then winced for a second time when she returned with a tall glass of milk and scraped the chair back once more to sit down.

Buffy sighed again. "Faith, lift the chair."

"Sorry, maybe if I had one of those three legged stools like you use ..."

Dawn giggled again and for the next twenty minutes or so, Faith made sporadic 'moo-ing' noises under her breath and even Buffy eventually laughed and made a joke about lo-fat milk that nobody really understood, but they laughed anyway.

Willow glanced at Xander, who'd barely said two words since they all sat down a half-hour before. She looked at the empty seat between him and Faith.

Anya was dead. The empty chair belonged to Kennedy, currently in Moscow – no, in Prague. Moscow had been a few days ago. She had an emailed photograph in their room of Kennedy, Andrew and the latest new Slayer standing outside the Kremlin.

"Hey," she said quietly.

Xander looked across the table, his mouth twitching up at the corner.

"I don't have any milkmaid jokes," he said.

Willow smiled – she didn't know what else to do – and looked at the empty chair again.

"Missin' your girl?"

"Sorry?"

Faith was looking at her, smirking slightly. She tilted her head toward the chair beside her.

Willow felt a familiar sort of contraction in her throat. She swallowed, kept her voice steady. "Yeah."

The Slayer held her gaze for a moment and, slowly, the smirk faded.

After dinner, Willow went upstairs and opened up the top drawer of the dresser. She picked up the photograph and sat on the end of the bed. The picture had been sent by her parents once she'd been able to supply them with a permanent address. When she'd asked why they'd taken it with them when she'd ordered them out of Sunnydale, her ma said it was an 'important record'. For maybe the first time, she was grateful they'd measured her life in trends and abstractions.

After a few minutes, she put the picture back, like she always did. Too much chance for upset and misunderstandings, or perhaps too much understanding.

She left the room and went outside. Faith shifted over on the back porch steps to let her pass, but Willow stayed put, looking out across the yard, reluctant to make her way over with an audience. Glancing down, she saw that the other woman was gazing in the same direction.

Faith dropped her half-smoked cigarette on the ground and stood up. "Don't wanna keep the vamps up too late." She gave Willow a quick smile and went inside.

Willow waited a moment, then walked across the yard, the almost-constant disruption inside the house ebbing away behind her until, by the time she stepped through the gate into the small garden, it was almost like being in a different world.

* * *

**July 2003**

The book landed on top of the others with a louder thud than she'd intended. Dawn reached out, steadying the growing pile. Books for Willow's office. The ones that had to be kept out of the reach of curious newbies.

She took another volume from the crate. This one was about UFO sightings in the area. Dawn checked it against the list on Willow's laptop, then moved the entry into the catalogue database and added the book to the pile of local interest works.

Funny, that a bunch of stories and rumors about extra-terrestrial life forms in New Mexico in the 1940s meant that, well, Dawn now lived in New Mexico. But, this was where the Council had figured the new big threat was going to be centered when they bought the property. If they'd waited a few more years, when it turned out that the stories were mostly just that – stories – they could have saved a lot of money. Instead, they'd turned the house into a retreat for the Council's head honchos, almost like one of those big lodge-type hotels you'd find in the mountains, except it was a converted ranch house on about three acres of flat, dusty land by the highway, about forty miles from the nearest town. Giles and Robson had discovered it when the solicitors in England told them that the Council's assets were now pretty much their responsibility.

"Bloody typical ill-informed ostentation," Giles had muttered when he'd looked over the property documents. But, it turned out the stories and myths about 'strange activities' in the area still attracted a fairly large demon population. So here they were, fifteen hundred miles away from the nearest active Hellmouth, training new Slayers and not having big apocalyptic traumas on their doorstep every two minutes.

Dawn quite liked it. But, she'd like it better if Buffy would let her drive.

She peered into the crate – empty, at last – then left the library and went downstairs. Putting Willow's books in her office, she locked the door, then headed back upstairs to the rec room. Faith was practicing shots at the pool table.

"Hey, pint-size," Faith nodded. "Wanna play?"

"No, thanks." Dawn pulled a magazine from the rack and sat down on the couch.

Willow came in just as Faith sank the last ball on the table.

"You wanna play with some balls, Willow? I mean, I know it's not exactly your thing ..."

"I'm sure you can handle the balls all on your own, Faith."

Faith raised an eyebrow and Dawn bit her lip, not sure if she should laugh or not. Then the Slayer chuckled and began lining the balls up again.

Dawn handed Willow the keys to her office.

"You wanna go to the movies later, Dawnie?"

Dawn nodded. "Sure."

Willow seemed to hesitate for a second. "How about you, Faith?"

Faith glanced up. "Nah. Thanks though."

"You mean you don't wanna watch ... I dunno ... some good-looking people save the world from unspeakable evil?"

Faith looked up again, eyebrow cocked in amusement. "Maybe some other time."

* * *

**August 2003**

The first time she'd collected her case after the spell, Kennedy had pulled the handle right off, laughing as the bag continued its cyclical journey on the carousel in the airport in Hong Kong. Chao-Ahn gasped and grabbed Kennedy's arm – like, wasn't that just the worst thing to happen since Uber-Vamps and knife-wielding bald guys? – then went chasing after it, while the American woman standing next to Kennedy complained about how foreign factory workers just didn't know how to make quality luggage.

Kennedy nodded in mock-solemn agreement. "We should cut their wages. Maybe even make them do it for nothing."

The woman eyed her curiously. "Oh, they need to be paid _something_."

The Slayer shrugged. "Well, when you get back home with all that cheap crap they make here that was good enough for you to stash in your bags, you can hock it and give the money to the international sweatshop workers' union or something."

"Well, there's no need ... I mean, I wasn't talking about _your_ people ..."

Kennedy almost smiled at that. Wondered what the woman might say if she told her that, these days, _her_ people were a bunch of Americanbritishchinesepuertoricanitalianrussianfre nchgermanwhateverfemalemaleblackwhitestraightqueer ambiguousoneeyedtwoeyeduppermiddlebluecollarclass ... warriors. Some with superpowers, some without.

Instead, she said: "Bite me."

Keep it simple.

The woman glared and said something to the man beside her about how rude young people were these days.

Now, with practiced care, Kennedy picked up her bag and made her way to the arrivals lounge. Willow was standing beside a pillar, a new copy of some science journal in her hand.

"Hey," she beamed. "How was your flight?"

"Boring." Kennedy kissed her, just a small 'see, no lesbian weirdness going on here, people!' kiss on her forehead, and they made their way outside to the parking lot.

While Willow steered them out of the airport onto the highway, asking questions about the trip (How are the new girls? How was Moscow? How was Prague? How big a pain in the butt was Andrew? How was Cleveland? How was Giles?), Kennedy dug through her hand luggage.

She paused in her search to point at a neon-lit 'golden arches' sign; the name always made her think about 'golden showers', which seemed sort of appropriate somehow, though she should probably find it more disturbing that that's what it made her think of. "Can we stop here? The food on the plane wouldn't feed a mouse on a starvation diet."

"Well, I was gonna make you something when we got home, but if you —"

"Oh, no, that's fine. Thanks. But, can we stop anyhow, so I can get a Coke or something?"

Kennedy continued to poke around in her holdall as they stopped at the drive-thru.

"What are you looking for?" Willow asked as the girl at the window passed her Kennedy's drink.

"Like, you don't know?"

"You don't have to bring me back ... cigarettes?"

Kennedy pulled the carton from the bag and threw it on the backseat.

"You shouldn't encourage her."

"Cancer sticks from around the globe? I'm thinking one day I'll bring back some so disgusting, they'll make her sick and she'll wanna give up."

Willow smiled. "Interesting logic."

"But, here – this is for you."

Willow stopped the jeep in a parking spot and took the small box.

A silver Star of David something that came with a pin (Kennedy reckoned it should probably go on a lapel) with a tiny Cubic Zirconium at each point; real diamonds would have been inappropriate somehow, although if it was a Catholic icon, then sure. Andrew had liked it, which should have meant nothing, but she'd been strangely grateful for his opinion.

She hadn't told her about visiting Auschwitz. She would, but not now.

"It's beautiful." Willow looked at her. "I love ..."

Kennedy felt a familiar hitch in her chest.

"... it."

The Slayer exhaled with an equally familiar, silent sigh. She smiled at her girlfriend. "It's nothing."

* * *

**August 2003**

Maybe they'd been waiting to see if the ocean might roll in and do the work for them, or maybe they'd wanted to check for any more seismic shifts before they made up their minds what to do with the gaping hole that used to be their home. In any regard, it had taken the county authorities just over a month and a half to come up with the decision that, due to 'the town collapsing in on itself under circumstances that indicated a significant degree of geological instability', the crater would simply be fenced off, a new highway re-routing traffic around the area. Nothing would be built in its place.

Later that mid-July afternoon, he'd found Willow sitting on her bed crying, the newspaper lying beside her.

Xander sat down and pulled her close to him. He could barely make out what she was saying in between the sniffing and the mumbling against his shirt and the sobs catching in her throat. What he _could_ hear were names.

"You know they're not really down there, right? They're all floatin' on clouds. They fought the good fight, Will."

She knew that. What she wanted was grass and hills and the sun shining down on them all. So they would know they cared.

He worked on it for a week, then finally, he took her outside to the space he'd fenced off at the end of the backyard, where he'd planted flowers and other greenery. A wooden bench sat alongside one of the side fences and underneath a timber archway near the end of the plot was a granite headstone, with a space in front to hold candles. The headstone was blank.

"Couldn't do the hills, sorry, but it gets a lot of sun." He shrugged. "And I thought we could all get together, decide on an inscription."

She hugged him so tight, he thought she might bruise a rib.

There – all better.

He was good at fixing things.

Now, three weeks later, Xander set the scored wood for an interior window frame on the workbench and picked up his saw.

"Why aren't you using the circular one?" Willow asked.

"For this?" He nodded down at the narrow strip. "Don't need to."

Willow nodded. She sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her jeans as Xander began to work the blade steadily back and forth. He glanced over toward the steps of the back porch where Kennedy and Faith sat, chugging from bottles of water. A cigarette dangled loosely between Faith's fingers.

Kennedy was gazing back. Not at him.

"When d'you think it'll be finished?"

"Huh? Oh, I dunno. Useable in a few weeks, I guess." He stopped sawing and looked over his right shoulder at the large barn behind them. "The shower room's gonna be the tricky part, but I know a couple of guys who can help us out there."

"You do?"

Xander paused. "Well, _I_ don't know them. The guy at the timber yard does – says they can do it for a good price."

Willow grinned. "What's a 'good price'?"

He smiled back. "Something that won't give Giles a heart attack."

Across the yard, he saw Robin come out through the kitchen door onto the porch. He looked over and gave Xander and Willow a nod before turning his attention to Faith, who glanced up briefly and took a drag from her cigarette.

"I'm gonna go check who's on lunch duty," said Willow. "I think Dawn was trying to squeeze herself onto the schedule the other day. It's bad enough trying to persuade Buffy not to 'do her bit'."

Xander smiled as she made her way toward the back door, watching as Faith dropped her cigarette butt and ground it out with the toe of her boot, ignoring Willow's irritated frown at the discarded filter. When Willow went inside, Faith stood up and stretched, while Robin leaned back against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest.

Sometimes Xander wondered why Robin didn't die in Sunnydale.

The two Slayers walked across the yard, empty bottles left behind on the steps.

"Okay, boss. These next?" Faith motioned to the wall panels lying in a pile a few yards away.

Xander nodded. "Yeah, just take 'em inside. Thanks."

The former principal was watching, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth as Faith and Kennedy picked up the sheets and started to carry them toward the door of the almost-gymnasium.

Faith didn't need Robin.


	3. One: Pretty Beat Up

**ONE: PRETTY BEAT UP**

They went to pick up a purifying crystal that, according to Willow, was supposed to keep bad stuff away from the white magic.

Normally, it was the kind of thing that Willow would deal with on her own, but since the crystal was in the hands of a demon who apparently didn't want to part with it and Kennedy was away, it had been agreed that Faith should go along to lend a little muscle if need be.

So, they drove to a small shack on the outskirts-of-the-outskirts of the next town and Willow knocked on the door and told the demon that, since she saw no possible reason for him to have it in his possession, it would be better off with her. And, so he didn't feel hard-done by, she'd give him two hundred dollars for it.

"How about five hundred?" said the demon. Faith watched him hold the crystal to his chest, like it was a teddy-bear his mommy was trying to persuade him to give to Goodwill.

"It's worth two-fifty, tops!" said Willow.

The demon shrugged.

"Well ... how about three?" said Willow.

"How about four?" said the demon.

"How about I beat the crap out of you and we take it anyway?" said Faith.

Willow smiled at the demon, who clutched the crystal a little tighter.

It wasn't an idle threat – and, if she was honest, Faith would have rather done it that way than spend money on paying demons for stuff they'd probably stolen in the first place. But, apparently this particular demon came under the 'annoying-but-basically-harmless' category, which meant they had to try negotiating first.

"What's up with her?" the demon asked Willow. He looked at Faith. "We're trying to come to a civilized agreement here."

Faith sighed. "You got five seconds to take the three hundred and hand it over."

"And if I don't?"

"Told ya, I kick your ass and we go home with a bright, shiny, _free_ crystal."

"Whoa, wait just a minute there." The demon took a step back and held up a claw-type thing that Faith assumed was a hand. "You turn up at _my_ door, totally unsolicited, looking to buy something that belongs to _me _and, when I express a couple of reservations about the price you've offered, you tell me you're just gonna steal it anyway? What if I turned up at your house and did that?"

The Slayer saw Willow frown a little. She turned to Faith and motioned for them to take a couple of steps back from the doorway.

"He's kinda got a point," Willow said in a low voice, casting a sideways glance back at the demon, who was looking at the crystal with a little smile on his pink face.

"What are you talkin' about?" Faith kept her own voice low. "He's a demon, for Christsake. You said it could be dangerous if it got in the wrong hands."

"I know, I know." Willow bit her lip. "Lemme just check."

Faith folded her arms across her chest and watched as Willow turned back to the demon.

"Okay," Willow started. "Um ... say we were a couple of demons and we offered you four hundred bucks for it. Would you take it?"

The demon looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he pursed his floppy lips. "What kinda demons?"

"Oh, demons that might not be as upstanding as you are."

"Then no, I wouldn't. I'd only sell it to demons who I thought were gonna use it for its proper purpose."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "Who you _thought_ were gonna use it right?"

The demon nodded.

"I think that's all we need to hear," said Willow.

Faith took a couple of steps forward again and punched the demon in his pooched-out gut, catching the crystal as it dropped from his claw-slash-hand.

"Sorry. Can't risk you're gonna sell it to the wrong demons by accident." Faith shoved the crystal in her jeans pocket and looked at Willow. "Give him the three hundred."

Willow took the bills from the envelope that was tucked away in her bag and held them out.

The demon, still clutching his stomach, glowered as he took the notes and hid them somewhere on his body that Faith kind of didn't want to know too much about.

"Now you can sleep easy, knowing you sold it to the right people," the Slayer said.

"Screw you," the demon replied.

Willow frowned. "You're not gonna turn up at our house and try to buy our stuff, are you?"

"It'd serve you right if I did, but ... no. The Slayer house? I'm not stupid."

"We could sell him Buffy's CDs," Faith suggested. "Do everyone a favor."

This time, Willow frowned at Faith, before turning back to the demon. "Thanks. We'll take good care of it."

They left the shack and went back to the pick-up.

* * *

"You don't think that was too harsh?" Willow asked. "I mean, with the punching and everything?"

"Just hurrying things along. Probably hurt me more than him."

"Oh. Did you hurt your hand?"

"Uh, no, I kinda just said that. He'll be okay though. And he got an extra fifty bucks to spend on sheep's bladder shots or whatever." Faith glanced at the other woman as she pulled out onto the highway from the dirt track. "But, if it's so dangerous, how come it's not worth _that_ much?"

"Well, it doesn't get used a whole lot. Most demons aren't into white magic, so most of them hardly even know about it. The dangerous comes from if it gets manipulated in a bad way. Like, if a witch was doing some magic to track down some evil demon type and she used a crystal that had been tampered with, all kindsa bad stuff could happen."

"Like what?"

"Oh ... like, she could end up summoning some hell beastie instead."

Faith nodded. Then she paused. "This one been tampered with?"

"I can run a couple of tests when we get back to the house just to be sure, but I think it's okay. Can I see it?"

Faith took her foot off the accelerator and lifted her hips a little so she could fish the crystal from her pocket. She handed it to Willow, who squinted at it and turned it over a couple of times.

"Yeah, it seems okay."

"You can tell just by looking?"

"Not so much the looking ... more a feeling."

"Like 'I've got a good feeling about this', or we talkin' spooky magic feeling?"

Willow looked at her. "You think those feelings I get are spooky?"

"I didn't mean spooky like _bad_-spooky. I just meant ... I dunno ... about you gettin' vibes and shit." Faith glanced at Willow, who still looked a little wounded.

"Well, you get vibes and ... stuff, don't you? With the Slayer thing?"

"Yeah, so you know I didn't mean anything bad by it."

Willow didn't say anything for a moment, so Faith reached down to turn on the radio.

"I mean, maybe it's a _little_ spooky, but it's not like I asked —"

Faith took her hand away from the radio again. "Look, it's _not_ spooky. Christ, sorry I didn't pack a thesaurus so I could avoid offensive anti-witch terminology."

"I'm not talking about the witch thing. Well, I am ... but, more the specific _me_-witch thing."

Faith sighed. "Right. So, you wanna know if I think you're spooky?"

"Well, I don't know if I wanna know."

"Then why you goin' on about it?"

"'Cause it's out there now."

Faith tapped the steering wheel a couple of times. "I don't hang out with spooky people." She glanced across to the other seat. "Apart from the odd vamp and guys who can turn into snakes."

Willow gave her a small smile, then directed her gaze out the side window. After a moment, she looked at the Slayer again. "I ... I turned into a guy once."

Faith raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"No, I mean, it was — someone did it to me. Earlier this year. Amy Madison. She's a witch and she doesn't like me very much. She put this hex on me and I turned myself into Warren Mears."

"Warren Mears?" The name sounded familiar. Then it clicked, from the car ride back from LA all those months ago. "Warren? You mean the guy —" Faith shook her head. "Jesus, what a bitch."

"Yeah, well ..." Willow let out a long breath.

"And I thought you were gonna tell me something, you know, kinky."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

Faith glanced over, expecting to see an expression to match the annoyance in the redhead's voice, but it looked like she was doing her best not to smile a little bit. The Slayer shrugged. "Still don't think you're spooky."

This time, Willow laughed. "I didn't tell you so — I mean, I'm not trying to _prove_ my spookiness."

Faith shrugged again. "So, any big revelations come out of it? You know, like how misunderstood the little fucker was? How he just needed someone to understand him?"

"No, he was pretty much a — what you said."

"Yeah, sometimes there's not much goes on underneath it all, right?"

Willow looked at her. "Yeah. Sometimes."

* * *

Faith had played with the radio to help fill the silences that punctuated the journey from LA to Sunnydale. The car had belonged to Xander, and Willow had asked her politely not to smoke, so she'd needed _something_ to do.

Catching up on old times had been awkward at first. Bound to, really, given their history. But Faith had asked what kind of stuff had been going on while she'd been 'on vacation' and listened while Willow told her about Joyce dying and about Buffy dying and about how Dawn wasn't quite what Faith remembered. Things that Faith – no stranger to the weirdness that was Sunnydale – was shaken by nonetheless. She felt bad about Joyce. Buffy dying, less so. And maybe that was strange, but maybe not. Buffy wasn't dead anymore, after all, and Faith let herself wonder only for a brief moment how she might've reacted if she'd known about it at the time. The Dawn thing, she tried not to think about at all. _That_ was too fucked-up for words. ("Don't say anything to her about it if you can help it," Willow advised. "She's still kinda sensitive about it." Faith had merely nodded her agreement.)

So, the possibility for conversation had been opened up. They were talking – well, Willow was doing most of the talking – but Faith saw the opportunity and after a couple of minutes, when the other woman seemed to run out of things to tell her, she decided to lighten the mood a little. She thought about bringing up the exchange with Fred back at the hotel. It was always a kick to see one of the Scoobies make an ass of themselves and _that_ had been pretty high up on the scale. But, then again, pointing out how much it had amused her probably wasn't gonna score her any points with the redhead and Faith didn't want to start pissing people off before she even got to Sunnydale. That would happen eventually, she was sure, so there was no need to push it. Besides, it _had_ been kinda cute in a retarded sort of way. Then she remembered what Willow had said about 'seeing someone' and saw an opening. Later, she'd wonder why she just assumed it was the same someone from last time she'd been in Sunnydale, but that was what had flashed through her mind in the short seconds before she'd opened her mouth: _probably still that wicca chick_.

"So, how's your girl?"

"What?"

"Your girlfriend. The blonde?" And, Faith thought, she could maybe say something about having been an evil bitch when they'd been – accidentally – introduced. She didn't know how much the girl (Tina? Theresa? Tara? Yeah, Tara) had told Willow about their encounter, but some sort of peace-making effort was probably in order.

"Tara," Willow said. And it was said so quietly, that Faith knew she'd put her foot in it somehow. A messy break-up was her first thought, but she wanted to get it out anyway. It was the kind of thing Willow could cast up later, no matter who she was screwing now, and Faith wasn't too enthused about giving the redhead extra ammo if things got testy between them.

"Yeah, you know, I think maybe I gave her a hard time —"

"Tara died."

_Damn. Shit. Fuck. Way to go, dumbass_. She released a long breath. "I'm sorry," she said – not the kind of apology she'd expected to make – then added, "She seemed kinda nice."

Too late, Faith realized she'd probably just handed Willow all the ammunition she could possibly want. She waited for the attack, the tendons on the back of her shoulders tensing, but the outburst of verbal abuse failed to appear. Instead, Willow gave her the sorriest excuse for a smile Faith thought she'd ever seen.

"Yeah, she was," Willow said, and for the next few minutes the wall of silence, once again, dropped between them. Then, in mostly steady, even tones, Willow told Faith about the fallout. About how she tortured and killed the fucker who killed her girl, ended the life of some magic dealer freak, tried to kill a couple of geeky-sounding sidekicks, kicked some Slayer ass (guiltily, Faith realized she'd kinda liked to have been there for that), almost killed Giles, laid waste to some magic shop (Faith didn't know why that was important after all the killing and stuff, but Willow seemed to think it was worth mentioning), then about how she wanted to destroy the world and almost did it too. For a second, Faith thought Willow might be exaggerating about the last bit, but a quick glance at the stricken look on the redhead's face, plus the hint of anguish that had crept into her voice at some point during the story, told the Slayer otherwise. Willow gave her a sad, crooked half-smile at the end of it.

"Pretty bad, huh?"

Faith had forced herself not to laugh. Yeah, 'pretty bad' probably just about covered it. "Jesus, Willow, remind me not to piss you off anytime soon," she drawled, before she could stop herself. It was meant as a joke – not a great one, admittedly, and the timing could probably have been better. She tried not to look concerned while she waited for Willow's reaction.

"The black hair and veiny-ness is usually a pretty good warning," Willow said, the hint of a genuine smile breaking through.

Faith relaxed and played with the radio some more, strangely relieved to have an explanation for why the other woman hadn't been as chilly toward her as she might have expected. And, despite the crappiness of Willow's situation, it was good to know at least one of the Scoobies wasn't gonna pull the 'evil psycho' card on her anytime soon.

* * *

The back of the pick-up shook a little as Faith swerved to avoid some roadkill baking in the afternoon heat. Twenty miles until the turn-off, according to the sign they passed. She glanced down at the radio again, but decided against it; she shouldn't have to resort to that now, not after five months. Puffing out her cheeks, Faith exhaled a long breath. Then she remembered something.

"Hey," she said. "Whaddaya call a lesbian with long fingers?"

Willow rolled her eyes.

"Nah, c'mon, this is a good one ..."

Willow sighed, but a smile appeared. "Well-hung," she said. "It's an old one too."

Faith chuckled. "Sorry, my subscription to _Non-breeders' Digest_ ran out last month."

"Anyway, I kinda think you outdid yourself last week. When I was fixing Dawn's video camera? The _dykeumentaries_ thing?"

Faith grinned at the memory. "Yeah, that was pretty good. Even B looked like she was gonna laugh that time."

"No, she didn't." Willow sat up a little. "Did she?"

"Hell, yeah. Why d'you think she put that magazine she was readin' over her face?" Faith studied Willow's bemused expression from the corner of her eye. "I mean, I think she was just gonna laugh at how dumb it was, not 'cause she thought it was funny or —" She caught Willow's grin. "What?"

"That's kinda sweet."

"Huh?"

"Defending Buffy?"

"Defend nothing. Already got enough to work with there. I just don't gotta start makin' stuff up, that's all."

Willow looked as if she might be about to scowl disapprovingly again, but the expression stayed under wraps. She shrugged instead. "She just worries about Dawn, I think."

"Dawn? What, B thinks a few dumb lesbo jokes are gonna turn her into one of those 'God Hates Fags' assholes? Shit, you could stick ... I dunno ... a one-armed, tri-sexual leprechaun in front of the kid and she'd be, like, _Yeah, but are you a good person?_"

Willow sniggered. Loudly. "A one-armed, tri-sexual _leprechaun_?"

"Not that I'm comparin'."

"Glad to hear it. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with one-armed, tri-sexual leprechauns."

Faith shrugged. "Nah, 'course not. What's not to love, eh?"

Willow shook her head, still smiling.

"Anyhow, point is, Joyce did a bang-up job with that kid." Faith squinted through the windshield as they passed another sign. There was a gas station just before the turn-off and she needed to pick up some cigarettes before they got home.

"Buffy did too. You know, after Joyce died."

The Slayer glanced at Willow. "I'd agree with you there, but I don't wanna get accused of defending her again."

"'Cause that would be wrong." Willow nodded mock-solemnly.

Faith lifted an eyebrow. "Anyhow, the way Dawn tells it, you guys ..." She hesitated. "You and Tara did your share. Like when B was otherwise engaged with the whole being-dead-again deal?"

Willow gave her a quick not-quite-smile. "Tara mostly. I kinda screwed up with the whole being-out-of-control-and-evil deal."

"Yeah, but, see? She doesn't hold a grudge – you're pals again, right?"

It was Willow's turn to hesitate. Just for a second, but Faith saw it. Then she nodded. "Yeah, we are."

* * *

The gas station was about fifty yards away now. Faith slowed down and switched lanes. "Just gotta pull in here."

"We don't need gas."

"Smokes. Those last ones Kennedy brought back sucked – and that's not a pun. Christ, I swear she's tryin' to poison me or something." Faith pulled the pick-up into the station and parked in one of the spaces away from the shade offered by the forecourt roof. She cut the engine. "Comin' in?"

Willow nodded and unbuckled her seatbelt as Faith got out.

"Hey, wait a sec."

Shutting the passenger-side door, Willow looked over the hood. "What?"

"Hold the crystal up, willya? The light's better here."

Willow shrugged and reached into her bag. She took out the crystal and held it up between her thumb and forefinger so the sunlight could catch it.

Faith narrowed her eyes, holding back a smirk. "Turn it round a little."

Willow gave her a curious frown, but carried out the request.

The Slayer nodded slowly. "Yeah ... not bad."

"What are you —"

The smile broke out and Willow's mouth dropped open.

"You're checking out my fingers!" She sighed and scowled and dropped the crystal back into her bag.

"Man, you Scoobies are too fuckin' easy." Faith shook her head as they walked to the store. She held the door open and glanced at Willow as she passed.

The scandalized expression was gone. Instead, as Faith followed her inside, Willow looked back at the Slayer, her lip curled up uncertainly. "Not bad? What does that mean?"

Faith sighed. _Jesus. _


	4. Two: If You Can't Rock Me

**TWO: IF YOU CAN'T ROCK ME**

"Oh, God, what happened?"

Buffy opened her mouth to respond, but Faith got there first. She jabbed a thumb at Kennedy.

"Your girl tried to take out a sword-totin' ninja vamp."

"A what?"

Buffy stepped back so Willow could take hold of Kennedy's arm – the one that didn't have a makeshift tourniquet wrapped around it. Blood from a three inch gash was smeared in patchy streaks below the wound, as if someone had tried to clean the worst of it away; judging from the bloodstains on their shirts, it looked like both Buffy and Faith had pitched in.

"He wasn't a ninja," Kennedy said, firing an exasperated look at Faith. She turned to Willow. "He was too big to be a ninja."

"Not helping." With a small frown, Willow guided her girlfriend to a stool by the breakfast counter. "Sit."

She studied the gash – not too deep, but probably best not to leave it.

"Should I get one of those sauté kits?" asked Buffy.

"Uh ... yeah, thanks," said Willow.

Kennedy frowned. "Shouldn't that be —"

Willow shook her head and the younger Slayer closed her mouth again as Buffy moved to the cupboard by the sink. Willow heard her pull the first aid box out.

With a shrug, Kennedy looked past her shoulder at Faith, who, from the sounds of it, was rummaging through the fridge. "You wouldn't have taken on that vamp?"

Willow glanced back as Faith shut the refrigerator door with her elbow, a beer in one hand and a KFC carton in the other. "Yeah, but I woulda left out the war-cry. Kinda gave him a jump on the whole 'sneaking up on' plan."

"So, what happened to him?" Willow asked.

Faith grinned. "Well, I got a shiny new toy out of it."

"You got the sword?"

"Nah, they were handin' out little silver trophies for _Best Beheading_." Faith put her snack down at the end of the counter and pulled up a stool. "Yeah, I got the sword."

Bouncing a little on her seat, Kennedy grinned at Willow. "So, you're gonna stitch me up, huh?"

"It's not too bad." Willow smiled. "And don't worry, I'll be gentle."

"Wuss," Faith snorted.

Willow sighed. "If you're just gonna sit there and make sarcastic —"

The Slayer raised her hands. "Fine, I'll keep the noise down." She opened up her beer with a hiss.

"Here." Buffy appeared at Willow's other side and handed her a suture pack, a bowl of warm water, and some cotton wool and antiseptic wipes. "We need to get that box re-stocked. We're almost out of everything."

Willow prepared the needle while Buffy went to the whiteboard on the wall and began to add items to the groceries-come-medical supplies list.

"So, brat," said Faith, digging into the carton in front of her. "When's your next trip?"

"End of next week. And cool it with the 'brat' crap … ow."

"Sorry." Willow offered an apologetic smile. "But, try not to move." She pierced her girlfriend's skin once more with the needle and carefully drew the thread through the tiny puncture.

Faith looked at the younger Slayer. "That's some gig you've got there."

Kennedy started to nod, but perhaps remembering Willow's edict, didn't follow through.

Willow offered her own comment instead: "Yeah, nice work if you can get it."

"You don't ever wanna tag along?"

Willow kept her focus on Kennedy's arm. "Yeah, well, I'm kinda busy right now, so, maybe sometime. In the future. Maybe."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Faith smirk. "No rest for the wicked, eh?"

This time, Willow tilted her head to look at the Slayer, wondered how lame _takes one to know one_ might sound. But, before she could say anything, she felt Kennedy shift slightly and turned back to see her give Faith a small imploring look: _Please don't make jokes like that._ The other Slayer rolled her eyes and returned to the food in front of her.

Willow resumed the minor operation. She glanced quickly at Faith. "So, you killed the vamp with his own sword?"

"Nah, used the Scythe. I was closer, so B pitches it over and two seconds later, the ninja mountain man's a headless pile of dust and I've got me a new little friend."

"Good for you."

"Yeah, but not like that Scythe, man. It's like that thing was _made_ for us."

Buffy _tsk_-ed from beside the whiteboard. "It _was_ made for us, doofus."

"It's called a figure of speech, B. You know, like 'bite me'?"

"So, where is it?" asked Willow. "The Scythe? We probably shouldn't leave it lying around."

Buffy looked at Faith. "It's still in the SUV?"

"Uh ... I guess."

Kennedy scrunched up her brow. "It wasn't on the seat beside me. I don't remember it being there when we put the blanket down."

"And it wasn't ridin' shotgun," said Faith. "Had the sword there, but not the Scythe."

Willow squinted. "And this means … what exactly?"

Faith looked at Buffy, who looked at Kennedy, who looked back and forth between the two older Slayers.

"Aw, crap," said Faith.

* * *

"Sooo ... where did we last see it?" Hands on hips, tapping her fingers, Buffy bit into her lower lip as she slowly surveyed the thin woodland around them.

"We're not lookin' for car keys, B."

"If we were, they'd probably be in the last place we look," said Willow. "And I'm thinkin' the same law might apply to mystical scythes." She shook her head. "Man, what were you doing here anyways?"

"Whaddaya think we were doin'?" said Faith. "'Cause, much as I love a good teddy bears' picnic …"

Willow couldn't help smiling at the thought – now that _would_ be a big surprise. "The three of you were supposed to be patrolling the graveyard, right?" Some bonding-session-come-way-to-skip-newbie-training-f or-a-night Buffy had dreamed up. Kennedy had griped a little at being left out of the sequel, but, even taking accelerated healing into account, Willow didn't want to risk the wound re-opening if any further slayage activity reared its head.

"We started there," said Buffy. "But the vamps disappeared in _here_, so we followed."

Faith looked at Willow. "Can't you do some kinda _wherefore art thou _spell? I mean, you got a line on … the _essence_ of the Scythe, right? Like when you were gettin' vibes from the newbies at the crater?"

"Yeah, but, the energy came from you guys. I can channel it, like when I got the Slayer locator up and running, but the energy eventually goes back to — oh, wait, who had it last?"

Silence for a moment, then Faith shrugged. "Think I did." She looked at Buffy. "You used a stake for his buddy, right?" When Buffy nodded, Faith kicked at a gnarled root protruding from the ground. "Damnit."

Buffy shrugged. "Well, it _was_ kinda confusing, you know, with the vamps and then the blood and the shiny new weapon. And it's dark in here. And weird."

Despite the show of support, the other Slayer shook her head. "Really fucked this up, didn't I?"

Willow looked at Faith. "Here, give me your hand."

The Slayer eyed her uneasily. "Thanks, but, I'm not _that _upset about it."

Willow sighed. "No, I mean, if you had it last, there's a chance I might be able to pick up its essence again, get a location for it."

Amusement momentarily cut through the frustration as Faith raised an eyebrow. "This isn't some kinda lesbo thing, is it?"

Willow fixed her with a suitably withering glare. "Yeah, it was a big hit on the festival circuit this summer."

Faith chuckled. So did Buffy.

"Come on, Faith, play nice – hold Willow's hand."

"Bite me, Blondie." But, Faith held her right arm out. She looked at Willow. "Well, hurry up, we don't have all night."

Suppressing the passing thought that she could probably make a fairly decent joke out of _that_ if she was the type of person who made those kinds of jokes, Willow reached out and slipped her own hand into Faith's, a firm grasp, but not too tight. Then something immediate …

"Oh."

Buffy's brow furrowed. "Can you feel it?"

"Um, no, not yet." Willow looked at Faith. "Are your hands always this warm?"

Faith sighed. "Yeah, toasty. So, c'mon, you gettin' anything?"

Willow narrowed her eyes, concentrating on the other woman's skin pressed against her own. Funny how you don't notice things like how warm a hand is when it's pushing a knife against your throat. Or socking you on the jaw. Funny too, that she could now crush every bone in that very same hand to powder, if she wanted …

She released a short sigh, chiding herself for letting her focus drift. Closing her eyes this time, she waited for a tremor, for a sense of _something _to take hold, for one of those _spooky magic feelings_. Willow ran her thumb across the back of the Slayer's hand, frowned when she felt the skin clammy and rough, a little lumpy even ...

She opened her eyes again and released her grip. "I think I know where it is."

"Yeah?" Faith raised her hand and grinned wide. "I rock."

"Um, not exactly." Willow motioned to a clump of light green foliage at the edge of the woods. "_Urtica dioica_."

Faith and Buffy looked in the direction she pointed.

"Is the Scythe supposed to be floating toward us or something?" Buffy turned to Willow. "I don't think your spell worked."

Willow smiled. "No, not a spell." She looked at the other Slayer. "There's a pretty good chance you dropped the Scythe over there. Where those stinging nettles are?"

Faith frowned. Then looked at her hands. Then sighed heavily.

Then started scratching.

* * *

"Leave it alone."

"Easy for you to say. Itches like fuck."

Willow unlocked her office door and pushed it open. She pulled a first aid box from under her desk and set it on top of the blotter.

Faith propped the Scythe against the wall by the doorway while Willow opened the box and started rifling through it. When she raised her head again, the Slayer was looking around the room.

"Newbies think this place is like that show – you know, where it's small on the outside and big on the inside?"

Willow frowned. "Why do they think that?"

Faith shrugged. "Chick gave 'em all that power? Maybe can't get their heads round the notion she's workin' her mojo in a ten-by-twelve office space."

"But, I leave my door open, unless I'm workin' on the magic or, you know, I'm not here."

Another shrug. "We're talkin' newbie-logic, remember? Guess they need to entertain themselves." Faith squinted at the wall opposite the desk. "Probably shouldn't tell 'em about the kitten calendar." As the Slayer turned around again, a wry smile shaped her mouth. "Tell you what, never thought _I'd_ be stuck in an office Thursday mornings doin' paperwork with B."

"Thunderdome."

"Huh?"

"Your office. Dawn says they're already taking bets on who's gonna drop-kick who into the gym first."

The Slayer's eyes narrowed. "Who's the favorite?"

Willow paused, puffing out her cheeks before releasing a long breath. "No idea."

"Liar." Faith grinned. "Well, hey, we've managed to avoid dukin' it out so far. And 'least we get to split the boring stuff too."

Willow held out the small jar she drew from the box. "Here."

Faith took the container. "What is it?"

"Urtica ointment. It'll reduce the inflammation, stop you from scratching it. The rash'll probably be gone by morning."

"Thanks." With a tilt of her head toward the back of the room, Faith picked up the Scythe. "Maybe we should put this away, before it gets 'misplaced' again? 'Sides, you need to get back to your girl – brat got banged up pretty nasty."

Willow breathed out a reproachful sigh. "You shouldn't call her that."

"Sorry, habit, I guess," Faith said with a shrug. "So, how come you're not jumpin' on all those free vacations?"

"I told you, things are kinda busy right now. I mean, would you do it?"

"What?"

"Tag along, if you were me. You know, go sightseeing while she's chasin' down newbies?"

Faith shrugged as she sat against the edge of the desk. "If I liked dorky stuff like museums and old ruins, sure. I wasn't talkin' about you goin' into retirement, just some downtime is all. I mean, B's got a calendar with all kindsa places she wants to see one day ..."

Whether Faith's persistence was a deliberate attempt to be irritating or not – and, even on a good day, that kind of thing could go either way – Willow didn't have the patience for it right now.

"Tell ya what, Faith, next time you're in Cleveland with Robin, maybe you can send us a postcard. Oh, wait, you never _go_ to Cleveland with Robin …"

The Slayer raised an eyebrow. "That's a whole cartload of apples and oranges you're comparin' there."

Willow returned the expression. "Apples and oranges? Really?"

"Yeah, I was workin' my way up to the melons and cucumbers."

Willow sighed. "Look, let's just put the Scythe away, okay?"

"Fine by me."

Willow crossed the floor and crouched down beside the vault embedded in the rear wall. Sixty years ago, they'd probably figured it would come in handy for all the extraterrestrial artifacts they were sure they'd be inundated with. Later, most likely used for valuables belonging to visiting Council dignitaries. Uttering a few words under her breath, Willow passed her hand over the thick metal and, with a dull clunk, the door edged open. She turned round again, saw the other woman was standing over her now, clutching the Scythe in a reddened hand, gazing at the weapon with steady, unblinking eyes. Finally, the Slayer looked at her.

"Really _did_ think I'd fucked it up back there."

"Sorry?"

Faith's brow creased, teeth catching her lower lip, like she was trying to find the right words. The corner of her mouth twisted up. "In the Hellmouth … all those girls when you did your mojo? Kinda like this _reaction_." The almost-smile turned almost-shy. "Never felt anything like it before."

Willow took care to make the words sound like a question – it would be too easy to come across annoyingly wise or superior. "A connection?"

Another, slighter, smile. "Sounds kinda dumb, right?"

"No, not at all. I mean, sharing that power … you and Buffy … everyone felt it."

"Right … yeah." Faith shrugged, motioned to the weapon with a brief nod. "So when I thought I'd lost this, reckoned maybe I'd screwed it up for everyone."

Willow looked back at the other woman, recalled the drawn and tired Slayer sitting beside her at the hospital back in May while they waited to hear about Robin and the others. Remembered the concern on her face, in her voice, searching for assurance that what they'd done was a _good thing_.

Willow smiled. "We found it, didn't we?"

"Guess so." The Slayer handed her the Scythe and Willow placed it in the vault, closing the door over and locking it again with another incantation and wave of her hand.

When they left the office, Faith unscrewed the cap on the jar, her lip curling as she glanced inside the container.

"Guess I better get this gunk on."

"What gunk?" Kennedy appeared from the back doorway of the living room. She squinted at the jar. "Is that magic gunk?"

Willow looked at her girlfriend, saw the creased brow and accompanying pout; anxiety rather than petulance. "Nope, one hundred percent natural homeopathic goodness."

Kennedy nodded, smiled. "Good."

Catching sight of Faith's hands once more, Willow grimaced. The rash _did_ look sore. "Do you want … I mean, I can help you put it on."

The other woman rolled her eyes. "Don't think I need the full Florence Nightingale treatment. Thanks for the offer, but I'll be okay."

Willow watched as the Slayer headed for the hallway staircase, the badass-swagger accompanied by a cocky smirk as she turned and started up the steps.

Kennedy was watching too, an amused grin in place. With a shrug, she took Willow's hand

"Wuss."


	5. Three: Waiting on a Friend

**THREE: WAITING ON A FRIEND**

She still didn't get it.

Instead, she kept stumbling from one half-assed 'understanding' to another, assuming that comprehension would finally just come to her, like the way she (sort of) understood math or knew how long milk would stay useable after she opened the carton.

Magic was tricks. Magic was fairy tales. Magic was David Copperfield making elephants disappear in Las Vegas. Magic was thirty-one flavors that you could pick and choose from with impunity. Magic was having the life sucked out of her by her girlfriend. Magic was feeling every muscle and nerve in her body expand and then contract, capturing the essence of what she knew she was meant to be while, in a blaze of white light, the woman she (had already?) loved turned into a thing of worship.

"What's to get?" Faith asked with a shrug, as they walked toward the cemetery gates. "Willow gets her mojo on, does her thing, and little children and puppies get to sleep safe at night. That not good enough for you?"

"But, aren't you curious?" Kennedy rubbed at an itch on the side of her leg with her crossbow.

"The mystery that is your girlfriend? I'm still kinda stuck on _where the hell did she get those high school sweaters?_"

"Hey!"

"Sorry."

Kennedy chewed on her lip. "But, it bothers me. You know, that I can't be a part of it?"

"You don't see her comin' on patrol every night tryin' to crack demon skulls with her bare hands, do ya?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because ... I don't know ... she grew up with this. She's staked vampires and stopped apocalypses and ... I can't even do a freakin' card trick."

Faith paused and looked over her shoulder. "Yo! Keep up, guys."

The five new Slayers, following several steps behind, nodded – nervous but determined. One of them, a tall gangly teenager with a long face and hang-dog eyes, raised her hand.

Faith began walking backwards. "What's up?"

"Um ... if we keep up, we can sorta hear what you're talking about?"

Kennedy sighed. "Maybe we can talk about this later?"

Faith shrugged. "Gotta tell ya, this is kinda outside my frame of reference. Way I see it, when it comes to magic, I can't kick its ass and I can't fuck it and, well, I guess that's pretty much where _I _lose interest."

A couple of the girls sniggered and Faith rolled her eyes in a poor imitation of someone who hadn't been playing to the peanut gallery. The sneaky little smirk on her face sort of gave it away.

"Thank you," said Kennedy.

"No problem." The other Slayer turned round again and bumped shoulders with her. "You're just thinkin' way too much about it."

They carried on walking until they reached the gates, then Faith stopped and gathered the troops around her. The girls leaned in to listen, hands on knees, nodding and frowning, game-faces set, like a football team taking orders from their coach.

More than anything, they always seemed afraid that they would let her down. And later, since it was Friday, they'd go for pizza and Faith would be their buddy, telling off-color jokes and ragging on them about boys they liked or their crappy tastes in music. Still in charge, though, retaining the kind of devotion and respect (and healthy dose of fear) that she seemed to earn within five minutes of any newbie's arrival. Seamlessly interweaving one role with the other.

Kennedy didn't really get how that worked either.

* * *

When your date turns into the guy responsible for the death of her lover, the word 'issues' doesn't really seem sufficient somehow. But, Kennedy had wanted to help, so she'd stuck around. Okay, perhaps it hadn't been an _entirely_ selfless act, but part of her _had_ felt like a white knight with a mission to rescue this slightly weird and infinitely cute woman from the ghosts of dead girlfriends and murderers that haunted those warm, bright/dark eyes. Another part of her, the part that hadn't known about those things at first, just liked her. Had done from the moment she saw her. She'd noticed she was cute, yeah, but that hadn't been the main draw. No, the thing that had really grabbed her attention was the nervousness. Oh, the redhead was kind of unassuming – maybe even unexceptional at first glance, although Kennedy could already tell that she was probably smart (you didn't get little frown lines like that _just_ from monster hunting). But, the slightly anxious curve of her mouth and the agitated flicker in her eyes suggested something a little more edgy beneath the amiable, nerdy surface, and that had intrigued her – well, 'intrigued' was probably the polite way to put it. It was gonna be interesting and it was gonna be fun and the more she saw, the more she liked.

What she didn't know at first was that a lot of that nervousness, the thing that had initially drawn her to the woman, was down to the guilt and grief and the big, gaping wound that came with losing someone you loved. So, that was where the initial attraction and the 'hero' trip merged and it all got kinda mixed up after that. Maybe you couldn't have one without the other. But, Kennedy didn't mind so much. Because that's what heroes did, didn't they? They got involved with women who had secrets and dark pasts and who needed their help and protection.

"We're talkin' about Willow Rosenberg, right?" said Faith. "What the hell are you gonna protect her from?"

"From stuff like ... I don't know. Scary stuff."

"You mean the kinda stuff she _couldn't_ blast away if she moves her little finger?"

"I don't mean demons and vampires and things. I'm talking about ... life stuff. _Bad_ life stuff. I mean, she _killed _people and she doesn't deserve to have that hanging over her." Kennedy winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring up —"

"S'okay." Faith stuck her spoon into her banana split and cast a glance at the table across the aisle where the newbies were poking about their own desserts. She turned back to Kennedy, an awkward shrug traveling across her shoulders. "Why you tellin' me all this, anyhow? Don't mean to go all Dr Phil on ya, but shouldn't you be talkin' to your girlfriend about it?"

"I guess. It's just ... difficult. She's not like normal people."

"Well, someone had to say it."

"Funny." But, Kennedy had to hold back a grin. "No, I mean, she's ... special."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "Last time I checked, 'special' was right up there with 'not normal'." She let go of her spoon with a sigh. "Look, I get all the 'follow that dream' crap, but don't you think that's a lot to live up to?"

"Huh?"

"The whole 'you're my guiding light' thing? What if she doesn't wanna be your guiding light?"

"What are you talking about?"

The senior Slayer looked out the window. At nothing, it seemed. As far as Kennedy could tell, there wasn't enough light outside to see much of anything, but the gaze was intense, like there was something out there drawing the other woman's attention like a magnet.

Faith had once made a crack about the closest Kennedy ever got to darkness was when the chandelier in her folks' summer home burned out. Kennedy had laughed and said that not _everyone_ could be dark and brooding, then landed an uppercut blow to Faith's jaw. Since they were sparring in the gym at the time, Faith didn't look too pissed off. But, the punch she returned had knocked the younger Slayer off her feet. When Kennedy looked up, an involuntary shudder had coursed through her at the shadows in Faith's eyes, the smirk she wore that held not even a trace of humor. Then the older Slayer grinned, the shadows gone, and helped Kennedy to her feet.

Now, Faith turned away from the window and picked up her spoon again. "Forget it. What the fuck do I know?"

Before Kennedy could respond, the other Slayer groaned as another newbie-selection escaped from the jukebox. The latest teen-pop princess nightmare.

Faith let her voice carry across the aisle, the good-natured tone matching the glimmer of mischief in her eye. "Someone's just beggin' for extra laps tomorrow."

The girl looked over and grinned. "You're just outta the loop. When 'angry and depressing' comes back, we'll let you know."

Faith rolled up her napkin and leveled it at the girl's head. It bounced off its target and the rest of the troop giggled. "D'you believe this shit?" she said to Kennedy. "She's hardly even two years younger than me. Christ."

Kennedy blinked. Two years?

Three months being evil.

Eight months in a coma.

Three years in prison.

Five months or so of atoning.

Despite the PlayStation and the cartoons and the juvenile innuendos and the sneaky looks at Xander's comic books ... Jesus.

Kennedy suddenly felt about twelve years old.

Like she did sometimes when Willow was trying to explain magic – or magic and physics, or magic and chemistry.

Or when Kennedy could tell she was thinking about someone else.

* * *

Believing in someone wasn't a skill. You couldn't practice it and hone it and be the very best at it just through sheer effort alone.

You could be raised with it, sure. Manipulated into it in some cases.

But no one had ever had to persuade Kennedy that her belief system was supposed to revolve around a slightly-built redhead who stumbled over words when she got excited or nervous; who let lesser beings cajole her into adding extra pints of ice-cream to the weekly grocery list; and who she expected to find lying on top of their bed, elbows propping her up, reading a book, while a scented candle burned, adding a little extra light to the warm glow from the junk-store Tiffany lamp she'd bought on the second week after the move.

"Very cozy," Faith said. Admirably, there was only the hint of a sarcastic drawl. An evil grin followed. "But, when you say _lyin' on the bed_ ..."

"Reading? _Clothed_ reading?" Kennedy _tsk_-ed and shook her head through her own, less obnoxious, grin.

"Okay, I get it – little things mean a lot ... ain't she sweet ... whatever."

Kennedy watched through the windshield of the SUV as the newbies clomped up the front porch steps and entered the house. Loose-limbed. Noisy too.

"No, it's – I'm _saying_, it's everything."

"Everything?"

"Yeah, the little things _and_ the not-so little things. I mean, you get that, right?"

"Uh ... no." The older Slayer's lips curved up in amusement. "Baby steps. Gotta learn how to walk before I can run, right?"

"That sounds kinda —"

"Wussy?"

"Restrained."

Faith looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, all new and improved these days. Not so fast with the 'just dive in' approach."

Kennedy looked out the window again. She agreed. Or maybe she disagreed. She wasn't sure. In any regard, Wood was a good way into relationshipville – and _there's_ a thought she didn't think she'd ever have.

She directed a (hopefully) neutral-but-supportive smile at the other woman, then wished she hadn't. Faith was eyeing her warily, like she expected an _'atta girl!_ and a punch on the arm to go with it. Kennedy decided not to repeat her accidental 'Wood' pun out loud. Or point out the mixed metaphor Faith had used.

"We should get inside," Faith said.

"Hmm." Kennedy nodded. Now _that_, she did agree with.

"And, hey, maybe your girl's been plannin' a big _reading session_ for ya ..."

* * *

"... so, even if we're not ... _you know_ ... we can maybe still hang out? And no, I don't mean— this isn't just some 'let's be friends' thing. I mean, I really do want to be your friend, 'cause I do like you. But, it's not really working out 'cause, well, you can probably do better. Oh, no, I don't mean 'probably' like that! I mean, I'm sure you _can_ do better. It's just ... it's sort of like when Columbus found America, but he thought it was India because he'd been looking —"

"Wait a minute, Willow." Kennedy held up a hand, letting a short laugh escape. "This is your break-up talk?"

Willow gave her a weak smile. "I've never done this before."

"Yeah, that's kinda obvious." Kennedy chewed on her lip. "So, what brought this on?"

Willow shrugged and seemed about to sit next to Kennedy on the end of the bed. Perhaps thinking better of it, she backed away again and remained standing. "It's just ... well, I've been thinking about things ... about us, and I wasn't sure if ... because you've been really nice, and ..."

Kennedy forced back a grin. If this wasn't a break-up talk, she'd be quite happy to let Willow ramble on for the next ten minutes or so. Listening to Will talk like that was pretty high up on her 'let me count the ways' list. But, no, this was serious. Her girlfriend was trying to tell her why she thought she shouldn't be her girlfriend anymore. And doing a pretty lousy job of it too, because apparently she couldn't say what was really on her mind.

Kennedy frowned. "Is this about Tara?"

"No! Well, yeah. Sort of."

Well, she couldn't say she hadn't been warned. Kennedy looked at Willow, standing awkwardly, head bowed, examining her fingernails; held in the urge to stand up and put her arms around her and see if she couldn't, once again, make it all better for a while.

"I kind of already know how you feel," Kennedy said. "I mean, I know that —"

Willow nodded and looked up, lip curled. "I know, I know, but it's not fair anymore. You deserve someone who likes you ... I mean, _I_ like you, I really do, but not like you _should_ have someone like you." She winced a little and Kennedy smiled.

"So, you'd rather mope around alone?"

Willow shrugged. "It's not about moping. It's just hard to not feel guilty all the time about ... about us."

Kennedy nodded slowly. "Right, the 'guilt' thing."

Willow shook her head. "No, not like before. I know she ... Tara ... she wants ... she'd want me to be happy. I mean 'guilt' more like … I feel I'm kinda stringin' you along."

Kennedy's eyes widened just a fraction. _Well, yeah. Kinda already figured that out_. But, she'd been happy enough to be strung along. Well, maybe not _happy_, but she hadn't really had much of a choice. Because, somewhere along the line, Kennedy had gotten a little in over her head. 'The mission' got fucked up and she'd ended up falling a little – maybe a lot – deeper than she'd expected. She'd scrambled around her brain, trying to remember what you were supposed to do when this happened. You were supposed to not give a damn, or be noble and make sacrifices for the greater good, or slap the woman around a little. None of those had seemed very appropriate (and what the hell the last one was supposed to achieve, she didn't know) and so she'd just figured that, given time and effort, she might be able to ... _earn_ (that was the word, wasn't it?) what it was she wanted from Willow. Eight months on, though ... _Jesus, eight months_ ... eight months of being with someone who somehow managed to make her feel so wonderful and so fucking shitty at the same time ... maybe it was time to give it up. Being a determined brat who tried not to take it all _too_ seriously could only take you so far.

She crossed her arms. "I think I get it."

Willow looked at her, doing that guilty, droopy-eyed thing.

"I mean, I kinda knew I was fighting an uphill battle." Kennedy smiled again, hoped it didn't come out too much like a grimace.

Willow opened her mouth to say something, but Kennedy shook her head.

"No, I get that she's this One Big Love thing, but maybe ... you know, maybe it's more that I just wasn't big enough to make you ... not forget – I mean, you shouldn't forget. I never wanted that …" Kennedy trailed off with a shrug and gave Willow a short grin. "Looks like your way with words finally rubbed off a little."

Willow smiled back. "Thanks for not making this horrible."

And Kennedy wondered if maybe this was the last time she'd get to make things better for her.

* * *

"Gotta hone those lurking skills, huh?"

From her place in the doorway, Kennedy studied the unmoving figure slouched in the recliner. Bag of chips on her lap, fingers wrapped around a glass of scotch balanced on the armrest, legs stretched out in front of her.

She moved into the living room – dark except for the light from the TV – and sat on the couch, folding her legs under her. Her view of the screen was partial, but she wasn't really in the mood for ... what, a cop show? She shuffled along the seat anyway until she could see both the full image of a show she didn't even want to watch and the limited profile of someone who was sitting so still, Kennedy thought for a second she might have fallen asleep.

Or died.

Skipping past the possible irony factor, she went straight to the aftermath: Buffy would go into mourning and, by the end of the week, Faith would probably be canonized, in legend, at least. Then, forever after, Buffy would get a sad look on her face and everyone would know she was thinking about Saint Faith, all human foibles forgotten as the dead woman's 'soulmate' wallowed in the land of _what ifs_ and lost opportunities.

Or maybe not.

Plus? Kinda morbid to be thinking about Faith like that.

A rustling noise came from the chair and a bag of chips attached to an outstretched arm blocked her view of the TV she wasn't watching.

"Want some?"

Kennedy reached out, took a handful, and sat back again, while the chips returned to Faith's lap.

Her gaze fell on the screen as she curled her legs underneath her again. Maybe some mindless TV would be okay for a while.

And that detective chick _was_ kinda hot.


	6. Four: Torn and Frayed

**FOUR: TORN AND FRAYED**

"How about this one?" Willow stopped beside a 2000 Sable and peered in the driver's side window.

Xander studied the vehicle. "Yeah. Looks okay and the price isn't bad. We can probably get another couple of hundred knocked off too."

She looked at him. "Really?"

"Well ... we haggle. That's what they expect you to do." He leaned his elbow on the roof and jerked it away again. The sun bearing down on the lot had turned the vehicles into hotplates. He rubbed at the sore spot. "I thought your folks' guilt trip extended to _new_ car, anyway."

Willow's mouth turned up in a squinty sort of smile. "No, you're thinking about Kennedy's guilt trip."

"Huh?"

"A couple of weeks ago she said if I wanted to get something new, she'd make up the difference. She said the offer's still open. Can you believe that?" She leaned down to look through the window again.

"Wait a minute … what did she have to feel guilty about?"

"You know, the merry jaunts around Europe picking up Slayers?"

"Picking up Slayers? She didn't do any picking up, did she?"

The head made a reappearance over the roof of the vehicle. "Not _that_ kind of picking up. She thought she was neglecting me."

Xander climbed into the passenger seat as Willow sat behind the wheel. "And you weren't feelin' several thousand dollars worth of neglected?"

"Not even five dollars." Willow studied the odometer. "Just over twelve thousand miles. Is that good or bad? Maybe they didn't like driving it."

"So, if the jaunts weren't_ that_ merry ..."

Willow turned her gaze to the steering wheel, absently flipping the indicator lever up and down. The lower lip pout made an appearance too. Stalling or thoughtful. He'd have liked to say it was hard to tell, but he knew which one his money was on.

Finally, she looked at him again. "She's one of the best people I know. She was so good about everything, I don't think … I _know_ I couldn't have made it through this year without her. And she's funny and cute and I do love her … just, you know … just like …"

"Just like someone who's a really great friend?"

Willow paused, hesitant. "Yeah. But, you know, with the sexy stuff too." A nervous smile curled her lip again. "I felt horrible."

"Was the sex bad?"

She sighed. "Xander … please. The friend-love instead of the not-platonic girlfriend-love? I mean, she was waiting all that time for me to be more with the giving and less with the receiving and it was totally selfish to keep asking her to wait until I was ready to make with the giving of what she wanted me to be giving ... of."

"Okay, not a joke, but we're still talking about the 'love' thing, right?"

Willow nodded.

"Well, far as I can tell, she didn't seem to mind waiting. You might not have noticed, but she had a pretty cute redhead to come home to after all those merry jaunts, someone who loved her – even if it was in a big friendly way – and I don't think she was complaining about the sexy stuff either."

"Aren't you supposed to be making me feel better?"

"Sorry."

"It's just … it's kinda hard to listen to someone tell you they love you and you're all, _um, yeah, lemme get back to you on that._ Okay, a couple of weeks, sure … a month or so even, fine … but we're talkin' _months_. The girl deserved some kinda Most Tolerant Girlfriend _Ever_ award for not kicking _my_ ass to the curb ages ago."

Willow's lower lip twitched a couple of times and he wondered if he should be planning for tears. Her purse was wedged on top of the dashboard, within easy reach if he had to dive in to retrieve the small packet of Kleenex he was pretty sure she'd have in there. Tampons or any other 'feminine products' he might come across should hold no fear for him. He lived in a woman's world – knew practically everyone's preferred brands from memory by now.

But, the tissues stayed put. Eyes clear and dry, she looked up and took hold of his hand, ran a thumb over his knuckles. "I sound like a dope, don't I?"

Xander gazed back, felt the tiny pinch of words trying to squeeze free from the base of his throat. He wanted to say _no_, or _yes_, or … _something_. Anything. But, the words wouldn't come.

She watched for a moment, eyes creasing at the corners while the silence swallowed up the small space inside the vehicle. The phony new car smell began to nauseate him.

"I miss her too, Xander. I know we didn't always … we drove each other nuts, sure, but, I miss her."

Finally, he found his voice: "It's getting better. Sometimes it's better."

Willow smiled. "I know."

* * *

Sitting at the back of the bus, Andrew kneeling up to look at him from a couple of seats in front, recounting the last moments over and over – voice ever-whiny and still shaky with shock. Willow sitting on the backseat beside him, head on his shoulder, fingers entwined with his, listening to the story of how brave, how fearless the woman she'd sometimes barely tolerated had been.

(But, she'd been terrified – he _knew_ she had.)

After a couple of minutes, Giles had leaned across the aisle and tugged on the boy's shirt and started talking about Watcher training – trying to be helpful, mostly, but Xander had seen a flash of pain in the older man's eyes too; he'd spent more time with her than most. At that same moment, Willow had nuzzled Xander's neck and he felt her smile, but he felt the wet against his skin too, heard the crack in her voice:

"She was a good friend."

That's when it had started. His throat tightened and a pressure bore down inside his chest like every muscle, gland and organ was being squeezed by some gargantuan hand that had somehow reached in when he wasn't looking. The rest of his body seemed suddenly to disengage, like his limbs had been wrenched from their sockets, and he was left only with the agony.

Willow had held him, shifted along so his head could rest in her lap, stroked his hair, while everyone else had pretended not to notice. Thank Christ. He hadn't cried – couldn't make himself cry – but he'd wanted to. He'd read somewhere, or seen it on TV maybe, that women deal better because they cry, remembered that when it came down to it, Willow had chosen tears over destroying the world.

He didn't have the choice of either. Instead, over the next few weeks, he'd alternated between pushing the hurt as far away from himself as possible – getting involved in plans for the new Council; practicing how to do woodwork without injuring himself or turning out crap that might pass for modern sculpture; cracking jokes and making friends with the new girls – and giving into the pain by sitting alone, remembering, letting it bite down and chew off whatever it needed until the next time. All part of the scheme, hoping it would get bored with the game, tired of the taste of him.

He wasn't sure if his plan had worked or not. The pain was less frequent, but sometimes it hurt so much, he wondered if it was making up for not coming around so often. He brought a new strategy into play: give it an inch and maybe it won't ask for the mile, otherwise known as 'wading, not wallowing'. It held back the type of wrenching hurt that had sometimes kept him locked in his room for hours at a time, but he was aware of the almost-constant numbness; not too bad – it cut him a little slack now and again, and he was able to enjoy occasional moments without having to lie to himself or others – but it was exacting in its own way.

Time, the Great Healer would take care of it, he supposed. Or maybe he'd just learn to live with it.

Clichés were comforting.

* * *

She stood at the gate, hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans, head tilted to one side. Taking her time – no, hesitating, as if she thought the plants and flowers might shrivel up and die if she entered the little square.

He was only two or three steps away before Faith turned round, startled, like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't.

"Hey."

She brought out a casual – too casual – smile. "Willow get her new wheels?"

"Well, not _new_ new." Xander pulled the extra key from his pocket and handed it to her.

Studying the fob, she chuckled softly. "Musta run out of the really hot chick-magnets, huh?" She raised her head again, winked at him. "Figured you'd be all over that, big guy."

("They're kind of a big joke to her.")

When she handed the key back, he used it to point at the garden.

"You should go in."

Shrugging, she turned her back to him again. "Nah, I'm kinda … not today."

Not ever, as far as he knew.

He hadn't spent _that_ much time there. For him, the means had been an end itself. He'd seen Buffy visit once or twice; Dawn too; and some of the new Slayers, paying respect to their fallen comrades. Willow seemed to get the most use out of it – one of the ends he'd been shooting for. Sometimes she just sat alone, sometimes with him or Buffy or Dawn or, when he visited, Giles.

Faith had tried to back out of any involvement when they'd talked about what to put on the headstone, but Buffy had insisted – they'd 'appreciate her input'. Xander glanced her way a couple of times during the discussion, watched her leaning back against one of the kitchen counters, arms folded, shoulders hunched, head turned to the side. Gave her the benefit of the doubt, figured her expression and stance and lack of verbal contribution was more about discomfort than boredom. Faith didn't 'do' sentiment; and anyway, they were talking about a memorial to people who, for the most part, she had an awkward connection to: She'd been mean to them; or terrorized them; or barely knew them, if at all. Or screwed their boyfriend first. When they'd agreed on an inscription, she'd shrugged and given a stiff-looking smile of assent.

She glanced over her shoulder. "You put a lot of work into it. Looks nice."

"Yeah, not bad. Not something we ever ... but, you know, fresh start, I guess."

Turning back to face him, she smiled – small, quick. Maybe acknowledging the semi-contradiction of a 'fresh start' marked by a tribute to the dead.

Hands now returned to the safety of tight denim, she motioned toward the house with an elbow. "Better go round the troops up. Think they were playin' GTA earlier. Maybe not the best idea, impressionable young minds and all."

He watched her cross the yard, could almost see her relief as the weight of trying too hard lifted off of her.

It was probably the longest conversation they'd had since ...

(they moved? she'd come back to Sunnydale? borrowed Buffy's body? woken up from her coma?)

He squinted against the falling sun.

Since she'd tried to choke the life out of him.

* * *

"Is she still brooding?"

He turned his head in time to see Willow flash a gently admonishing not-quite-smile at Buffy.

"Okay, is she still sitting on the steps, not talking to anyone all day, doing the 'see-how-quietly-reflective-and-Zen-like-I-can-be' thing?"

Willow looked like she might be about to direct another non-verbal rebuke Buffy's way, but she peered out the kitchen window instead. "Yep. Still there."

Xander turned his attention back to figuring out Dawn's new system of organizing packets of tea and coffee. He'd thought at first it might be by country of origin, but he was now beginning to suspect it was by beverage color.

"Well, I hope she snaps out of it soon. I wanted some real sparring practice tonight. I can't hit her if she's looking all mopey."

"I don't think it's moping, Buffy. I mean, you can't really know what —"

"Yeah, I know."

The suddenness of the retort, the frustrated tone, made him look round again.

Buffy was smiling – stiff, awkward. "I mean, I know it's probably hard for her to deal with some of that stuff sometimes."

Willow offered her own smiley expression of awkwardness. "I'm sorry," she said. "It wasn't meant to be a secret handshake moment."

"It wasn't meant to be an insensitive foot-in-mouth moment either. We'll call it even."

Buffy had left to sort out some laundry and Willow had gone to her room by the time Faith came indoors.

"I'm goin' out. If Robin calls, tell him I'll call him tomorrow?"

He thought about asking – just something light, friendly.

_("So, where you off to?")_

But, he didn't. It was just one of those things nobody talked about – Faith and Robin weren't _really_ a 'couple' anyway, were they? But, he was relieved he didn't have to answer either.

"Buffy was waiting for you earlier. Think she wanted a little action ..."

She looked at him – funny/strange. The 'what _planet_ are you from?' look.

"Sparring, I mean. Sparring action ... practice."

"Oh, right." Faith seemed to ponder the option for a moment. She shrugged. "Guess she'll just have to wait a little longer."

Xander hesitated. "Is everything okay?"

"Five by five." Her mouth quirked up briefly and she headed out to the hallway. He heard her put on her jacket, then the muted jangle of car keys – the pick-up, he thought. The front door opened and closed again.

He finished his coffee, left the kitchen and went to Willow's new room at the end of the back hallway on the first floor.

("I couldn't ask her to move _her_ stuff. That would be horrible, and I've already been horrible enough.")

His eye traveled over the two cardboard boxes under the shelves by the door. He'd helped carry them. Books mostly, but he'd seen a reflective glimmer through the gap in one of the lids that had been folded over then. Only the books were left now.

"You haven't finished unpacking yet?"

"I'll get to it."

Xander watched her adjust the lamp beside her new bed, remembered sleepovers and footie pajamas and cartoons on Saturday mornings. He swallowed as she swept her hair behind her ear and turned to him, smoothed her hands down her sweater.

Kennedy had been the moving-on girl. Did this mean Willow had moved on _further _now?

A sudden swell of fear rose in his gut. He cleared his throat. "I thought maybe, if you're feeling up to it, we can go out some night ... get a little drunk … check out girls."

"That sounds …" She paused, mock-thoughtful. "... kinda sleazy."

Xander smiled. It felt like a smile. "But, good for what ails ye."


	7. Five: Let It Loose

**FIVE: LET IT LOOSE**

"I don't know … she seemed kinda down."

"Nah, she'll be getting bouncy with a different chick in every port by now."

"Nice to see you've been working on those sensitivity skills. I wasn't talking about Kennedy anyway."

"Oh."

"I should have seen it coming …"

"_Everyone_ saw it comin', B."

"You think so?"

"The big _Countdown-to-Friendville_ that dare not speak its name? Pretty much."

"But, Kennedy was good for her."

"Yeah, I guess."

"What's that mean?"

"Nothin'."

"Come on, O Wise One. Please, enlighten me."

"Leave it, B …"

"No, come on, I'm interested. You can't just say 'Oh, nothing' and leave it at that. Remember, Faith, we're in this together now and —"

"God, no, not the 'Side by Side' speech again."

"I hate you. You know that, don't you?"

"Look, all's I'm sayin' is, Kennedy made Will feel all fuzzy again? Great, good for her, but you _know_ she never got a handle on the less-fuzzy part."

"Kennedy knows what Willow did."

"I'm not talkin' about what she _did_. I'm talkin' about what she's dealin' with. Willow's got the dark stuff runnin' through her veins now."

"Yeah, but Kennedy knows that. Everyone knows that. But, she can control it. It doesn't mean she's doomed to lousy relationships if she can't find someone darker or meaner or whatever."

"I'm not sayin' that. I'm sayin' Kennedy never _got_ it. She knew it was there, but she pretended it wasn't, 'cause it was too damn freaky for her to deal with. So, she just ends up tellin' Will what a swell person she is all the time. I mean, gimme a break ..."

"Well, Willow_ is_ a ... swell person."

"Yeah, but someone tellin' you all the time and refusing to believe you've maybe got a _not_-so-swell side? Hell, Willow was probably too scared to throw a hissy fit if Kennedy forgot to tape the _Discover-Your-Dork_ channel. You know, in case it shattered her girl's big illusions? That's a lot of pressure, B. C'mon, when's the last time you saw her get her bitch on with Kennedy?"

"Well ... maybe. But, she never argued with Tara much either."

"Yeah, but what I heard, Tara wasn't stuck in some fucked-up fantasyland. Not later, anyhow. Plus, they had the Big Lesbo Soulmate thing goin' on. You don't wanna mess with that."

"And, once again, the award for Most Sensitive goes to …"

"Just sayin'."

Silence for a moment, bar the creak of the porch floor. Then a soft, quick grinding noise as Faith extinguished her cigarette with the sole of her boot. Buffy looked at the other Slayer.

"So, d'you think there's a chance she could meet, like, a new soulmate? Someone like Tara?"

"Fucked if I know. I'm not an expert, B. Jeez …"

* * *

Some time later, Buffy found a bottle with strange markings on it on patrol. Dawn was busy with a school project and Willow was balancing some new research for Giles, keeping track of the new Slayers, and had the post-Kennedy situation to deal with too. So, Buffy hit the books herself and discovered the bottle belonged to a 'benevolent wish demon' (_... not to be confused with demons of a vengeance or 'justice' nature ..._). After thinking about it for a while, Buffy summoned the demon and made her wish: to have Willow meet someone _like_ Tara. This meant no ghost-Tara, no zombie-Tara, no having a Tara-from-a-different-reality show up in their reality, no dragging a miserable and resentful Tara from the afterlife. Just someone 'sorta like another Tara'. Her other requirement was that no 'love-spell weirdness' was to be involved. The demon simply had to come up with the goods and Buffy – or the course of true love – would take care of the rest.

The demon said, "Very well, Slayer. I'll grant the means to have your wish carried out, but it'll be left to Ms Rosenberg to make the choice."

The demon thanked her for retrieving the bottle, then disappeared with a promise that he or she or it would get to work as soon as possible.

* * *

Three days later, when Xander told her his plan to help Willow get over any post-breakup trauma by taking her out to 'check out chicks', Buffy invited herself to join them.

"Uh, you do get the girl-watching part, don't you?" Xander checked.

"Well, if I come along, you'll get a straight girl's perspective, which is useful for all sorts of reasons. Besides, the three of us haven't been out together in ages." And, although those were perfectly good reasons to tag along, Buffy also wondered whether the girl she was expecting to turn up any day now might be at the club Xander was talking about going to.

They'd been there a couple of times before. It wasn't the Bronze – it was a little too sleek maybe, and the bands that'd been playing had pretty much sucked – but it was okay. Plus, she seemed to remember seeing a reasonable number of attractive-looking men _and_ women there and, since there wasn't a gay bar anywhere in the immediate area as far as she knew, she assumed that was where the less heterosexually inclined liked to hang out too.

So, Xander relented and, while he was counting off the 'rules' that Buffy would have to observe so's not to ruin the objective of the evening, Dawn came into the kitchen. Once she found out what they were talking about, she pleaded to be allowed to come along. Then when Faith turned up and Dawn told her where they were going, maybe since Robin was away and she had nothing better to do, the other Slayer said, "Sounds cool – I'm in," and so pretty much invited herself too.

* * *

"I don't know, Xander ..."

"Don't know what?" Buffy flopped down onto the seat beside Willow and lifted her Coke, taking a sip and glancing between her two friends.

Xander nodded over to a corner of the club. "That girl – she's hot, right?"

Buffy looked over and narrowed her eyes, studying the blonde woman. "Isn't she a little, well … kinda slutty-looking?"

"And that would be a problem because ..." queried Xander with a grin.

"She looks okay," Faith said with a shrug.

_Well, big surprise there_. Buffy briefly wondered what it might take for Faith to ever consider someone might have crossed the line into 'sluttiness'.

"Her shoes are nice," Dawn suggested.

Xander sighed. "That is _so_ not the point of this evening."

Buffy glanced around. Where were all the nice, quiet, shy girls that stupid demon had promised her? Maybe she should have suggested a trip to the city library instead, or a museum. She craned her neck as she noticed a tall auburn-haired woman standing near the bar, looking down at the floor, chewing on her thumbnail. _Ooh_. She was about to draw Willow's attention to her, when a taller man walked up and handed the woman a drink, slipping his arm around her waist. _Okay, maybe not._ She felt a gentle shove on her arm and turned round.

"Hey, B. Wanna dance?"

"With you?"

"Nah, with my awkward, geeky cousin from Loserville, Illinois. He was too shy to ask you himself."

"Wouldn't you rather have a bunch of hot guys drooling over you?"

"Shit, sorry for askin'." Faith picked up her beer.

"I'll come with," Dawn said.

Buffy frowned as the other Slayer shrugged and gave her younger sister a nod. No way was she letting Dawn go out there alone with Faith! God knows what could happen! Buffy stood up. "Okay, I'll come too." She looked down at Willow and Xander. "You wanna join us?"

Willow shook her head. "No, you guys go ahead."

"Yeah," Xander agreed. "Go – let Will and me get some real ogling done."

Buffy smiled and followed Dawn and Faith to the dancefloor. She frowned a little when the other Slayer bumped hips with her sister, but relaxed when Dawn started giggling and Faith gave her a good-natured grin. Besides, dancing gave Buffy a better chance of getting a good look around the room, since she could turn around without being too obvious. She started to scan the club again, squinting through the gaps between the other dancers' heads ...

"What'cha doin' B?" Faith yelled.

Buffy turned back to face her. "What?"

"You've been dancin' with your back to us for about two minutes now. Don't get me wrong, your butt's pretty nice and all ..." She nudged Dawn, who giggled again.

"Grow up, Faith," Buffy said. She recognized an attempt to make her blush when she saw one. "I'm just checking things out."

Faith frowned. "What? Vamp action?"

"No, there're too many mirrors in this place. Seems to keep the vamps away." Buffy pointed to a blonde standing by the stairway in a floral print dress, absently stirring her drink with a swizzle stick. Not too much makeup, hair looked pretty natural ... "She's cute, right?"

Faith and Dawn looked over.

"Uh, this _is_ for Willow's benefit, isn't it?" Dawn checked.

Buffy gave her sister a look. "Yes, Dawn. I meant 'cute' as in Willow would like her."

"Yeah, if she doesn't mind screwing to the sound of mooing all night," Faith said.

Buffy and Dawn looked at the other Slayer.

"She's got farm-girl written all over her. Check out those biceps."

"Well, farm-girls are nice," Buffy said. She glanced at the woman again. "They're gentle and kind and stuff, aren't they?"

Dawn shrugged. "I guess so. But, I thought we were just, you know, hanging out. We're not supposed to be fixing her up with anyone, are we?"

"Well, maybe not," Buffy said. "But, it can't hurt if Willow sees someone she actually _likes_, can it?"

Faith and Dawn both shrugged. They all continued to watch the woman, as if she were going to turn into a frog any second. Which, Buffy reflected, would be kind of ironic.

"Guys?" Dawn said. "You realize we're just standing in the middle of the dancefloor staring at that girl, don't you?"

Faith chuckled. "Yeah, B. We're supposed to be dancin', not spying on _Little House on the Prairie_ types."

"They didn't work on a farm," Dawn pointed out.

Buffy shuffled her feet around a bit. "Well, keep an eye on her. See if we can get Willow to ... I dunno ... want to go upstairs and then maybe she can bump into the girl and spill her drink and then offer to buy her another one and —"

"Jeez, you're really jonesin' for this one, B. She's not _that_ cute. Anyway, you gotta think outside the box." Faith tapped the side of her forehead. "Will needs a really _hot_ rebound chick."

"Rebound? Who said anything about —"

"What?" Faith leaned forward, cupping her hand behind her ear, then shrugged.

Buffy sighed at the other Slayer's feigned deafness. She glanced over to the stairs where the woman was still standing. Okay, maybe she could just point her out to Willow and see where it took them. Or maybe she should leave it alone. Whoever was supposed to happen would happen whether or not she managed to engineer an encounter, right? But, the demon had said it would be up to Willow, which meant Buffy might at least need to give her a gentle push in the right direction. Okay, pointing out would be fine and then, if Willow seemed at all interested, Buffy could figure something out that might at least get them talking. As the song ended, she gestured back to the table. Faith and Dawn followed her from the dancefloor.

"Where're you going?" Buffy asked, as Faith began to veer off in another direction.

"Bathroom." The other Slayer felt inside her pocket and produced some bills. "Get some fresh drinks. I won't be long."

Buffy and Dawn returned to the table. Buffy handed the money to Xander. "Faith says to buy some more drinks. You wanna mosey on up to the bar?"

Xander shrugged and stood up. "You comin' with, Dawnster?"

The two made their way across the floor.

Buffy took her seat beside Willow and picked up her Coke, finishing it off with a noisy slurp as she sucked the last drops through the straw. Willow was tapping her fingers against her own glass, her head bobbing up and down to the music.

"How's it going?"

Willow looked at her and smiled. "Good. It's nice, you know, bein' out with the gang."

A slight pang hit Buffy. The 'gang' that had shrunk over the years under mostly painful circumstances. She was suddenly grateful for Faith. Returning the smile, Buffy nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it is nice. And, hey, thanks for letting us tag along."

"Oh, you're not 'tagging'! I mean, I know Xander had this thing about the two of us hangin' out and gettin' drunk and checkin' out girls, and it was sweet of him, but I'm liking this. This is good."

Buffy nodded, her brow furrowing. "But we're still checking out girls, right?"

Willow grinned. "Well, that's fun too, I guess."

Buffy smiled and toyed with her empty glass for a moment. Then, ever so casually, she turned her head to look behind Willow toward the stairway. "Oh." She gave it her best 'gee-what-a-surprise' voice. "So, what do you think of —"

"God, that was a nightmare." Dawn set down a couple of drinks. "My feet got stood on by about three different people."

"But, mission accomplished!" Xander deposited the remaining drinks.

Buffy grimaced at the not-so-great timing.

Willow was looking at her. "What were you sayin', Buff?"

Okay, all was not lost.

"Well, I just wondered what you thought of —" Buffy turned her head round again. Oh, crap! What was going on? Farm-girl was talking to another woman! Oh wait, it could still be all right. Yep, they were buddies, that was all. The not-farm-girl was wearing a wedding band. Unless the two of them had gotten married in Hawaii or San Francisco or somewhere like that. Lesbians did that kind of thing all the time, didn't they? Buffy chewed on her lip. Well, she could still get Willow to at least look at the woman. There was no point panicking about lesbian weddings if it turned out Willow didn't even like her that much. Buffy gestured over to the stairway and was about to start again, when Willow stood up beside her. God, what now?

"Where you going, Will?"

"Um, the bathroom. Maybe get some water? It's getting a little hot in here, don'tcha think?"

"Well, can't you wait ..." She saw Willow take a couple of steps, then stop suddenly.

"Hey, guys."

Once again, Buffy turned away from her view of the farm girl, her eyes widening as she stared at the new sight in front of her. She also couldn't help noticing that the other three were pretty much doing the wide-eyed staring thing too.

Faith had returned to the table accompanied by a tall, shapely brunette in a short, low-cut red dress that the woman had probably been sewn into and a matching pair of pumps with spiked heels that Buffy could easily have added to the weapons inventory back at the house. Add to that olive skin, deep brown eyes, blood-red lips and legs that came up to her chin and Buffy supposed that, if she were Xander, she'd probably be trying not to drool too.

With a huge grin, Faith put her hand on the small of the woman's back and guided her toward Willow, who'd stopped doing the staring thing and was now doing the eyes-darting-around-in-blind-panic thing, along with the pale face and trembling things too.

"This is Willow, the friend I was tellin' you about," said Faith, as the woman held out her hand. "And, Will, this here's ... uh, what's your name, babe?"

The woman smiled. "Hi, I'm Tara."

The smile vanished as everyone winced and Willow's mouth dropped open. The woman, hand suspended, glanced nervously around the group.

"Aw, fuck," Faith groaned.

Buffy cringed.

Stupid wish demons.

* * *

Willow spent most of the journey home trying to reassure Faith that she wasn't mad.

"Just ... surprised. I mean, she seemed, um, friendly ..."

But, Buffy could tell she was upset. She'd barely been able to speak for about ten minutes after the other Slayer hustled the bewildered Amazon back to wherever the hell she'd found her.

Faith still sounded a little wary. "Kinda didn't notice that part. I mean, I heard one time you were into chicks with ..."

She mumbled something Buffy couldn't quite hear, while Willow cleared her throat loudly and Dawn suddenly got really interested in the empty fields they were passing.

"But, yeah, I probably shoulda checked," Faith continued. "Just didn't want you landin' up with ... I dunno ... some boring farm chick or whatever. But, hey if you like the _friendly_ type, way I hear it, that new chick at the Dairy Queen's _real_ friendly ..."

Buffy thought about not saying anything, but despite Willow's _relative_ okay-ness with what had happened, her conscience shouldn't and couldn't let the other Slayer take the fall. Faith was responsible for enough real damage in everyone's lives without Buffy letting her be blamed for something that, this time, wasn't _really _her fault. Besides, Buffy had already gotten a few surprised looks when she didn't start yelling at Faith for something that everyone obviously expected her to start yelling at Faith about.

On the other hand, there was a good chance telling Willow about the wish would just upset her even more and she really didn't seem _too_ distressed or pissed off.

Maybe 'wait and see' was the best approach.

* * *

The next night, Faith came back from patrol with a grocery bag full of 'essential' supplies she'd been asked to pick up.

Buffy finished washing a glass at the sink and took the bag from her, setting it on the counter where Willow and Dawn sat, looking through a prospectus from the local university now Willow was thinking about finishing her degree in the second semester.

"So, what'cha get?" Buffy began digging through the grocery bag, pulling various items out and laying them on the counter in front of her. Twinkies for Xander, a bag of marshmallows she waved in front of Dawn just to watch her flinch, chips ...

"Pass me those?" Faith requested as the six-pack appeared. She crossed the floor and opened up the refrigerator.

"Faith? What's this?"

Faith glanced over as she shut the door again, yanking back the ringpull of the beer she'd liberated from the pack. "Oh, that's for Will."

Buffy gave a startled laugh as Willow raised her head. She held the magazine up and lifted an eyebrow. "You asked her to get this?"

Willow, eyes wide, shook her head. "No ... totally not."

Faith shrugged. "Uh, I just figured —"

Willow scraped her chair back with a loud squeak. "You just figured it'd be 'cool' to get me this 'cause it might be entertaining to see everyone's reaction and brighten up an otherwise boring evening?"

Faith looked at her. "No, that wasn't it. It's just, you like chicks and that's a magazine with chicks in it."

"Well, yeah, we can see that." Buffy waggled the publication then dropped it onto the counter. She glanced between the two women, felt herself tense. Willow did _not_ look amused and Faith was beginning to look a little pissed off too.

The other Slayer was still looking at Willow. "Sure, 'cause you dig chicks just for their minds, right?"

Willow stood up. "What I do or do not 'dig' is none of your damn business. Thought maybe you already got the memo about_ that_ last —"

"Of course, I shoulda checked before I bought it." Faith gestured to the magazine then smacked her hand against her forehead. "You've probably already got that one, right?"

"The point is," Willow snapped, "that you somehow seem to _think_ it's your business when, well, it's ... it's just _not_ your business!"

"Yeah, but I can't help noticing you're not denyin' anything here, Willow."

To Buffy's surprise, Willow smirked, the smug expression appearing in place of the outraged reaction she'd anticipated carrying on for a little while longer at least.

"I'm not the one who spent three years in a women's prison, Faith. I'm sure it wasn't _all_ license plates and knife attacks."

Buffy would have been impressed – _pretty good, if a little low _– but, she was too busy cringing, eyes darting back and forth between the two, uncertain if she should intervene or not. She saw Faith clench her fists, and waited for the brilliant return that was no doubt sitting there on the tip of the other Slayer's tongue. She was unprepared for the relative lameness of the actual retort:

"Go fuck yourself."

Willow responded to the words with an arched eyebrow, while Faith started for the back door.

"Where are you going?" Buffy asked.

Turning back, the other Slayer motioned to the magazine. "To leave her to do whatever she's _not_ plannin' to do with that."

Willow smirked again. "Don't you ever get tired of it? I mean, that's some responsibility there – the whole 'I invented sex' thing?"

Faith returned a sneer. "Lucky for everyone _you_ didn't fuckin' invent it, else we'd all still be waitin' for second base to show up."

"Oh, I'm kinda surprised you heard of that one. I always figured you'd just skip ahead to the big finish – saves having to give it much thought."

"Well, too bad there's no one around to tell us how much thought _you_ put into it. Kennedy most likely screwing her way around Europe ... Oz humpin' any leg he's not busy chewin' off ... and Tara's probably not really in the mood these days —"

"That's enough!" snapped Buffy.

Faith broke off as Willow's face turned ash-white, eyes burning, lips clamped firmly together.

"Just ... cool it, guys." Buffy took a step away from the counter, but kept her distance.

Turning once again, the other Slayer reached for the handle and jerked the back door open and, for a second, Buffy wondered if they were going to be subjected to bolts of lightning from Willow's fingertips tearing her in half. Judging by the anxious look on Dawn's face, her sister was probably thinking the same thing. But, the other Slayer was able to step outside, unhindered by separated body parts, and slam the door shut behind her, so hard, the walls shook.

No one spoke for a moment. Buffy eyed Willow – she _so_ didn't want to look nervous about it – but the expression on Willow's face was calmer now, enough so Buffy could risk a weary sigh:

"She's such a moron sometimes."

To her relief, Willow rolled her eyes, a wry half-smile accompanying the gesture. "I miss the Faith of old who just tried to kill us all when she wanted to piss us off."

"Maybe I should talk to her," said Buffy, glancing at the back door.

Dawn pushed her chair back and stood up. "Well, I've had enough drama for tonight – I'm gonna go finish my report on the French Revolution." She offered Willow a small smile. "She probably didn't mean anything," she said, then turned her attention to Buffy. "But, if she _did_, give her an ass-kicking for me too."

* * *

Faith made a pretty good show of pretending not to notice when Buffy stepped out onto the porch until impatience apparently got the better of her.

She plucked at the ringpull on her beer, but still didn't look up from her seat on the steps. "What'cha want, B? Come to tell me what an evil piece of crap I am?"

"Oh, so we've moved on from the 'bad girl' part of the evening to the 'poor me' bit already? Damn, I was kinda lookin' forward to some more thoughtless, bitchy remarks —"

Faith's head snapped round. "Hey, I shouldn't have said some of that stuff, but don't go layin' this all on me. She didn't give me a fuckin' chance to explain before _she _got all thoughtless and bitchy and shit."

Buffy winced. "You mean that stuff about prison?"

Faith took a drink and shrugged. "But, you know, kinda used to the whole _Buffy's Buddies_ privilege card by now."

"That's not fair. I mean, what she did ..." But, Buffy let the protest die. Willow's crimes ... Xander's judgments and deceptions ... Angel trying to kill her friends and the outrage of Ms Calendar ... Spike's sometimes questionable motives and transgressions ... Yet, she'd always kept a special Faith-shaped vial of contempt in steady supply. She had a hundred different reasons – some more valid than others, probably – but, more often than she'd like, sometimes it seemed to come down to the simple _feeling_ that Faith's betrayals had been the worst.

The other Slayer was looking at her. "Hey, I know she's not exactly skippin' through daisies over what she did. Guess that and a dead girlfriend's more than punishment enough. Just fuckin' pisses me off sometimes, laying that 'innocent-me' trip on anyone treats her like anything less than a divine whatever-the-fuck-she-thinks-she-is-this-week."

Buffy sucked in a sharp breath. "Think you could be a _little_ more harsh there? And what happened to _Willow doesn't want to be swell all the time_?"

"Yeah, but, that kinda ass-licking's probably hard to give up cold turkey."

Buffy grimaced at the sheer unpleasantness of 'ass-licking' and 'cold turkey' being anywhere in the same sentence. She leaned her elbows on the railing. "So, what was your big explanation?"

"Huh?"

"You said she didn't give you a chance to explain."

"Oh." Faith shrugged. "Just kinda like an apology for that chick last night. Thought it might cheer her up some."

Buffy bit her lip. She'd probably laugh if it wasn't for the fact she could practically _hear_ her guilt-o-meter start to clang loudly in alarm.

She was _so_ screwed.

Her non-verbal response was misinterpreted. Faith grinned, rolled her eyes. "Okay, so I didn't get this gig for my winning social skills, but I —"

"It wasn't your fault!" Buffy blurted out.

Faith squinted uncertainly at her. "Uh, thanks for the support, B, but it kinda was."

"No, I mean, I need to talk to you and Willow. About last night."

"Sorry, don't think I wanna be there if you're gonna bring _that_ up again. I mean, she's pissed off enough already ..."

"Trust me – it's not you she's gonna be pissed off at."

* * *

Willow was fiddling with the espresso machine when they entered the kitchen again. She and Faith looked at one another – not daggers; instead, they exchanged hesitant, vaguely apologetic smiles, apparently not sure which one of them might deserve more blame for the earlier incident.

Which would shortly be a moot point anyway, Buffy reckoned.

She shut the kitchen door over, took a deep breath, and told them about the wish.

Willow didn't say anything for a moment. Just looked at her, mouth agape.

"I'm _really_ sorry," Buffy said. "It was stupid and dumb and brainless and lots of other words like that ..." She trailed off.

"No! Well, yeah, it kinda was, but ... you did that? For me?"

Buffy's mouth would have joined the agape-fest, but she had to check: "So, you're not mad?"

"Apart from the stupid, dumb, brainless part? No, I guess not."

Buffy eyed Faith, who was leaning back against the counter by the sink.

"So, the chick last night wasn't my fault?" The other Slayer looked doubtful. "How come? I mean, I'm the one picked her up ... you know, made with the nice and all."

"The demon said he'd 'grant the means' – she probably wouldn't have been there in the first place if I hadn't made that dumb wish." Buffy squinted. "And what do you mean by 'made with the nice'?"

"Well, I had to check, didn't I?"

Buffy made a face. "You couldn't have just asked?"

Faith shrugged. "You saw that chick. Hell, two drinks, even you woulda taken a shot."

Willow stifled a suspiciously amused snort with her hand.

The other Slayer smirked at Buffy. "It was your deal anyhow and you _know_ you're gonna get a hard time for it, right?"

"I'd expect nothing less." Buffy returned a smirky look of her own.

("Gee, I wish we could have waffles every morning for breakfast. Think you can arrange that, B?"

"Don'tcha just wish we didn't have to do this crappy research, Buffy?"

"I think we should all say a prayer tonight and wish for world peace. You go first, B and maybe the rest of us won't have to.")

"I can feel a movie-of-the-week vibe startin' up, so I'll leave you guys to it." Faith pushed herself away from the counter and started for the doorway.

"Oh, wait," Willow said.

Pausing, the other Slayer looked at her.

"I'm sorry about the prison thing."

Faith shrugged. "Yeah, sorry about the ... stuff I said. And the magazine – I didn't mean anything bad by it."

Willow mirrored the gesture. "It's okay. And the girl ... it was a nice thought. Sort of."

Faith-not-as-dumb-as-she-sometimes-was showed up with something that, if Buffy didn't know better, could almost pass for an abashed grin. "But, don't do it again, right?"

Willow smiled back. "If you wouldn't mind."

With a smirk firmly back in place, the other Slayer headed for the hallway, shaking her head. "But, I'm tellin' ya, that chick from the Dairy Queen, man …" She left the kitchen.

Buffy turned back to Willow. "So ... are we okay?"

Willow smiled and sniffed and her bottom lip started to tremble and her eyes got all watery. Reaching out, she grabbed hold of Buffy and hugged her.

Which, Buffy thought, hugging back tightly as her own smiling, sniffing, trembling and eye-watering kicked in, was probably what she should have wished for in the first place.

Without the wishing part.


	8. Six: You Can't Always Get What You Want

**SIX: YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT**

They went out on a few dates. To restaurants with menus she couldn't always understand too well. But, he'd give her an easy smile and explain what was what in a way that didn't make her feel like a retard. Which was kind of surprising, considering how fucking condescending he could be at times. Sometimes she wondered if it was 'cause he was a teacher, but a lot of the time she knew it was just to get a rise out of her.

Turned out he was a vegetarian, though. So, she made a joke about how she could eat enough meat for both of them and he gave her that slightly smug fake-surprised look.

"Rare, medium, or well-done?"

She smiled. "Haven't decided yet. Nothin' to get too excited about anyhow."

Two could play at that game.

Fucker just laughed. Man, he had a pair on him alright.

And he _was_ pretty.

* * *

First time he took hold of her hand, she flinched. Hadn't meant to. It just felt kinda weird. Like going on dates to nice restaurants.

"You okay with this?" Like other guys would check in the middle of a little bondage action.

She shrugged. "Yeah ... fine."

"You don't seem very comfortable."

"I'll get used to it." She looked at him quickly. "That doesn't mean, you know ..."

He grinned wide. "Don't worry. I'm not looking for any big promises."

No, just a few dates and to hold her hand.

Weird.

* * *

Of course, there was the screwing too.

Still good, but a little different than before. For one thing, getting a sword through the gut could really slow a guy down. After he got out of hospital, Willow had tended to the wound with a little white magic, but these things still took time if you didn't have your own super-powered healing to help things along. So, she learned to be careful with him.

Learned other things too. Like how to not freak out when someone you're boinking says something nice to you. And how to fall asleep in someone else's bed without feeling like they're gonna fuck you over as soon as the afterglow wears off.

She always went to his room though. Now she had her own space, she liked it to be just that.

"And _maybe_ you like calling the shots a little too, right?"

"Maybe." She lifted an eyebrow. "That a problem?"

"Hey, I like that in a woman."

No shit.

* * *

Naturally enough, when B told her they'd never screwed, Faith had assumed they'd always been 'just good friends'. What she didn't know was that they'd gone on a date. She didn't know the exact circumstance, so she wasn't sure if this meant he _had_ gone after Buffy first or not. Dawn said it was when B found out his mom was a Slayer, so maybe he'd just wanted to tell her.

Anyway, amazingly enough, that wasn't the part that bothered her. Boners for Her Buffyness were nothing new and it had been before Faith got to Sunnydale anyhow. Besides, it didn't feel like she was runner-up to the Chosen One this time, 'cause, well, she knew what _that_ felt like.

No, instead, it was like she'd stumbled across a piece of a jigsaw puzzle she'd never even realized she was putting together. And she wondered why it had never occurred to her before. After all, it would've been enough to raise a few eyebrows if his mom had worked the checkout at Wal-mart and he was banging some chick in the same gig. So maybe it didn't take Freud to make something out of the fact he was getting all sweaty with the Last Original Vampire Slayer.

But, she never said anything to him about it. She'd been tempted a couple of times when she was pissed at him for one reason or another – especially when he was coming on heavy with the shrink-rap, when she thought pointing out his own 'issues' might shut him up – but that was the kinda thing you could probably never come back from and she liked him and it felt good to have someone in her corner.

Someone who wasn't afraid to hold her hand and take her out on dates and say nice things while they were screwing.

Besides, it probably wasn't anything to make _too_ big a deal out of. They were a pretty incestuous bunch anyhow. Couldn't really avoid it, given the kinda world they lived in – B with her vamps and Xander with his demons and Willow with her witches and her own Slayers. Faith supposed she could make something out of that too, if she wanted, but Willow hadn't known when she started up with Kennedy that the girl would actually _become_ one. Anyway, Willow had so much fucking power herself these days, having a Slayer go down on her probably wasn't the big thrill it might've been a few years back when Buffy was everyone's favorite girl-most-likely-to-shoot-you-down-if-you-happened -to-have-a-pulse.

So, she shoved it to the back of her mind and, as long as he didn't call her 'mommy', it was cool.

* * *

She told him about Xander, except he'd already heard about it.

"You slept with him and tried to kill him, right?"

"Not on the same night."

He nodded, processing the information. "Okay, that story makes more sense now."

She traced a finger along his left bicep – strong, muscles flexing easily under her touch. So beautiful.

"So, why are you telling me?"

"Thought I was givin' you a heads-up. You know, before you heard it from someone else?" Faith drew a short breath. "It's just, the screwing … he thought it was a big deal at the time and it kinda wasn't."

"Ah, one of those 'been there, done that, don't worry about the tee-shirt' things?"

"Pretty much. Only, you know, it was the guy's first time."

He winced. Sympathy for one or maybe both of them.

"Yeah."

"Do you feel bad about it?"

She shrugged. "Not_ so _much, I guess. Spent about five minutes with the guy before that night, another two minutes gettin' his pants off. It's not like it coulda been _that_ meaningful for him."

He looked at her.

"Shit. I didn't mean ... it's different, okay? Besides, not sure there's a chick left in the free world Xander _hasn't_ been hot for one time or other." She chuckled. "Even had a little thing goin' on with Willow that year."

"Willow?"

Faith nodded. "She wasn't always about the chicks. Had the biggest crush on the guy."

"Wow."

"Yeah, I've kinda got a history of stealing things from her."

He lifted an eyebrow. "I'm not sure you 'stole' anything there."

She turned it over. "Guess not. Hey, one less evil deed to lose sleep over."

Even if she didn't have to fast-forward very long to find the next one.

The good feeling began to slip away. Faith shook her head, searched for something to make him laugh, to get that feeling back.

She grinned. "But, man, you gotta wonder what was goin' on in that boy's head the night before he lost his eye."

He smiled, remembered to look bad about it at the same time. "Now, _that's_ evil."

* * *

Except, he would look at her sometimes and she knew he didn't understand.

Oh, he understood a lot of things fine. He knew when she was pulling the _defensive_ _isolationist Slayer crap_ – no problem there, and he wasn't afraid to pull her up on it either. But, too often he didn't understand the reason for it in the first place, which sometimes didn't have much at all to do with being a Slayer – and it wasn't always crap either.

The worst part, though, was that he _tried_ to understand, he _wanted_ to get in her mind and poke around the darkness for a while and tell her it was okay and that he wanted to help – so busy being 'the rock' that he sometimes seemed to forget she wasn't some helpless little-girl-lost who just needed someone to look after her. It drove her nuts. He didn't get that she already knew the bad days/hours/minutes were her big reward for messing with the dark stuff, that trying to understand just ended up reminding her about it every two fucking seconds.

She took a drag from her cigarette and looked over her shoulder as the kitchen door opened behind her.

"Back kinda late."

Buffy shrugged. "We had an unexpected tussle with a slimy seven foot tall ... thingy on the highway. It walked right out onto the road. I think that was its _modus operandi_, a 'stop the car – eat the occupants' kinda thing?"

"Dawn and Xander okay?"

"Yeah. Got a little slimed when we had to drag its ass behind some rocks, but no damage." Buffy smiled. "What'cha doin' out here?"

Faith held the cigarette above her shoulder for a short moment before taking another drag. Buffy moved toward the steps and Faith scooted over to make room.

"How was the movie?"

Buffy sat down. "Oh ... okay. Lots of sex and violence. You woulda liked it."

"Musta been a nice learning experience for you."

Buffy somehow managed to scowl and grin at the same time. "So, what did you get up to tonight?"

"Nothin' much."

"Where's your sort-of-boyfriend?"

Faith grinned. "How come every time you say that, it sounds like you're takin' a shot?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Buffy smiled back.

Faith shrugged. "In his room. Probably imparting words of wisdom to his tie-rack."

"Ouch."

She chuckled. "I'll go see him in a little while. Hey, it might not be the Romance of the Century, but we rub along okay." She raised an eyebrow, inviting Buffy to take the last part of the statement whichever way she chose.

Buffy apparently chose to ignore it, though she smiled a little. "Well, speaking of things that have nothing to do with your love life – and I use the term loosely – I was thinking a couple of your girls might be ready for a move soon."

"Yeah, I was kinda thinkin' the same thing. We can talk to 'em tomorrow, speak to Giles."

Buffy gave Faith a small nudge. "And don't take this —"

"Hey, watch the shirt, slime-girl."

Buffy scowled. Almost for real this time. "I was gonna give you a compliment."

"Oh."

"But, it's too late now. The moment's ruined."

"Shit, I wait all this time, and I blow it over a lousy forty dollar shirt."

"That shirt cost you forty dollars?"

"Screw you."

Buffy grinned. "I was gonna say you're doing a great job, Faith. I mean, for what it's worth ... my opinion."

Faith responded with a smirk. "Well, I don't know if it's worth messing up my forty-dollar shirt for."

Returning the look, Buffy pushed herself up off the steps and went back inside.

Faith waited until she heard the door close before she allowed her expression to relax into a smile.

* * *

"I'm going to Cleveland."

"Back on Friday?"

He looked at her, shook his head. "No, I'm going next week. This one's gonna be a little more ... permanent."

"Isn't that more like 'moving to Cleveland'?" The correction was automatic. She'd pretty much known it was coming. Lots of phone calls back and forth to Giles and his trips had been more frequent lately.

"It's ... there's not too much for me to do around here."

Faith nodded, remembered him sparring with one of the newbies just a few weeks after the move, itching to get back in the game. Girl split his gut wide open again. Landed him three days in bed and another course of Willow's magical mystery cure.

Jerk.

"You could come too."

"Buffy wants me here." She silently cursed herself for passing the buck.

He knew it too, lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah, they need you here ... and Giles says they need me there."

Faith smiled. Relief and disappointment at the same time. Not anger, though. Not betrayal. He was a good guy.

He took her hand. Still weird, but there was no recoil by now. "I don't expect — but, if you want, we can keep in touch? Maybe get together when we're in the same ... state? Unless, you know, you meet —"

"Not too many of your type around, but, yeah, you never know."

"So ... we cool?"

"Well, I am, sure."

He chuckled. "You _so_ need to get over yourself."

* * *

She drove him to the airport and they talked about the new Watcher he'd be working with. Vi had mentioned something in a phone call at the weekend.

"Some hot European chick, right?"

"Um ... a sixty year old German woman with a dozen cats. Why?"

"Just don't want you to get ... I dunno ... lonely or something." She grinned. "You know, until we meet again?"

"I'll be fine."

He hugged her when they got to the departure gate. He knew she hated it when he did that. She could feel him chuckling as she patted his back awkwardly.

"You'll get used to it," he said, letting her go.

Faith shrugged. "Gimme a call when you get there. Just so's I know you didn't get lost or, you know, run away to follow that wacky principal dream again."

"Goes both ways. I mean, not the principal thing, but, you know, anytime you —"

"Sure." Faith nodded quickly.

She watched him hand his boarding pass to the woman at the gate, then smiled when he waved at her, just before he disappeared through the double doors.

She wondered if it was too late to tell him now. There was always the phone or email, and maybe they'd spare her any embarrassment, but maybe it wouldn't come out right if he couldn't see that she meant it. Then again, there was a good chance he knew already. Guy didn't know everything, but he didn't miss much.

Easy rides and schoolgirls with bullwhips, naughty nurses and horny cheerleaders.

_"You could do better."_

She hadn't believed it at the time.

The doors closed over. After a moment, she turned away.

Best surprise she ever got.


	9. Seven: Stupid Girl

**SEVEN: STUPID GIRL**

Faith was _really_ pissed off.

Which meant they all had to hear about it.

"Fuckin' little brat didn't do what I told her to and now look. I mean, what the fuck was she thinkin'?"

"Faith, if you just calm down a second —"

Faith shot Buffy a fierce look. "Calm down? My favorite fuckin' pair – ruined. If the little ... if she hadn't been so busy doin' her own thing, Big-Pointy-Demon-Guy wouldn't've got his claws in."

"If they're your favorite pair, why were you wearing —"

This time, Willow found herself on the receiving end of The Glare.

"You wanna do my laundry? It was the last clean pair I had to wear today."

"Maybe we need a better laundry system?"

Faith shook her head and poked at the slashes on the right thigh of her jeans. Straightening up again, she glanced back and forth between Buffy and Willow. "I'm goin' out. Tell Little-Miss-Just-Got-Her-Ass-Suspended she better stay out of my way for the next _year_."

"How can you go out if you've got nothing to wear?" Buffy asked.

Faith frowned, then cast a quick, critical head-to-toe eye over the two of them – first Buffy, then Willow.

"You got some pants I can borrow?" she asked Willow. "I mean, just a pair of normal jeans – no sunflowers or puppies or whatever on 'em."

Willow scowled.

"Ooh, tell her she can borrow them _if_ she tells us where she's going." Buffy nudged Willow.

Faith smirked. "Gee, however will I get out of this predicament? Do I spill my big plans for the evening just so's I can get into Willow's pants ..."

Willow managed an indignant _hmph_ and Buffy rolled her eyes.

"... or do I keep my yap shut and go scare up a pair from one of the newbies?"

Not sure how literally the word 'scare' might be put into practice, Willow released a short sigh. "Fine, there's a pair in the dryer."

"And thank you, once again, Faith, for taking our minds to new and scary places," Buffy added.

"Always a pleasure, B." Faith chuckled and headed down the hallway toward the basement.

A few seconds later, a new Slayer popped her head round the doorway, then came into the kitchen, fidgeting with the stake in her hands.

"How mad is she?" the girl asked.

"Oh, she just gets a little cranky sometimes," said Willow. "Don't worry about it."

Buffy gave the girl a reassuring smile. "But, next time? Do what she tells you and, hey, you might learn something."

The new Slayer bit her lip. "She said she was gonna tear me a new one."

Willow glanced quickly at Buffy, then looked at the girl again. "You know what would help?" She reached into her bag, found her wallet, and took out forty dollars. She held the money out to the girl. "You should buy her some flowers. Faith really likes flowers."

An enthusiastic head-bobbing commenced. "Oh, okay, I'll do that." She looked at the money, then at Willow again. "I can buy them myself."

"Oh, you can pay me back later. Just make sure you write something on the card. Um, something like, _To the best darn Slayer in the whole wide world_? Oh, and put little kisses on it."

Willow saw Buffy bite her lip and look away, trying not to laugh.

"Really?" the girl checked.

"Sure."

"Okay ... thanks." The new Slayer beamed at them and left the kitchen.

"I thought you were over the whole 'being evil' thing," said Buffy.

Willow shrugged, then looked round as Faith appeared in the doorway with a clean pair of – Willow's – jeans on.

"Thanks. I'll get them back to you in a couple days." She smiled. "Don't wait up."

And she left the house.

* * *

Buffy, of course, had an excuse to be in the gym the following afternoon. Willow, not so much, so Buffy told her to come in and pretend to do a computer checkup or something in the office. That way, she would get to see Faith either entertainingly pissed off – in which case, Willow could 'fess up before she really _did_ tear the girl a new one – or uncharacteristically flustered and/or speechless. Pissed off would be fine, they agreed, although the second one would probably be better value for, well, forty bucks.

Willow hovered near the back of the gym, chatting with Buffy and a couple of early arrivals from her team. Faith, meanwhile, was doing some warm-up crunches while she waited for her girls to get there.

Two minutes later, the doors opened and the new Slayer came in. She made her way over to the mat in the middle of the floor, hands behind her back.

Buffy nudged Willow as Faith stopped what she was doing, wiped her hands on her sweatpants, and scowled at the girl.

"Sorry about, you know, the demon guy and, uh, your jeans and everything." She brought the flowers from behind her back and held them out.

Faith eyed the arrangement uncertainly as she stood up, like there might be a bomb or something tucked inside. "What's this?"

"Uh ... flowers?" The new Slayer pushed them into Faith's hand.

The girls standing beside Buffy and Willow sniggered. Then stopped sniggering when Faith shot a look across the gym.

"There's a card too." The girl pointed at the item in question.

Faith looked down and narrowed her eyes while she read. When she raised her head again, there was an expression on her face that Willow wasn't sure she recognized.

"It was a dumb thing to do. I mean, you coulda ... you coulda gotten yourself —"

The girl blinked, surprised. "I know. I really am sorry."

Faith looked at the girl for a long moment. Then, finally, with a dismissive snort, she tilted her head toward the locker room. "Go get changed. I'll see you out here in five."

The girl smiled and nodded and crossed the gym toward the locker room door. On her way past the small group, she gave Willow a quick thumbs-up.

Willow glanced at Buffy, who was chewing her lip, looking more than a bit remorseful. Which made Willow wonder about how bad she must be looking herself. Thankfully, Faith didn't seem to notice. Instead, she jerked her head toward the office and motioned for them to follow her.

Faith shut the door behind them and turned around. "Think we've got a problem."

"Problem how?" said Buffy.

Faith sighed. "Flowers? I mean, come on ..."

"How's that a problem? The girl was just apologizing for screwing up during patrol last night. I think it's ... cute."

"Well, okay, yeah. But, the card?"

"Huh?" said Willow.

"What about the card?" said Buffy.

"There's kisses on it and everything. I mean, I'm flattered and all, but —"

Willow frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Means she's got a mad crush on me. Come on, no offense, Will, but, only a total dyke would put kisses on a card like that."

Buffy scowled. "That's not true ... and don't use that word."

"Fine. Looks like we've got a junior lesbo on the team. Whatever. But, I mean, you gotta feel for the kid."

"What are you talking about?" Buffy said. "It was just some flowers and a card, for God's sake."

Faith folded her arms, still holding onto the flowers. "Okay, so if Willow bought you some flowers and wrote, uh ..." She tilted her head and squinted at the card. "_To the best Slayer in the world_, and put little kisses on it, you'd be fine with that?"

"Uh ..." Buffy glanced at Willow. "… yeah?"

"But, I wouldn't do that," said Willow.

"How come?" asked Faith. "You know, if it doesn't mean anything, why not?"

"Um ... 'cause I wouldn't have to buy Buffy flowers in the first place."

"Okay, fine, but let's say you did. Let's say you guys fall out over something really dumb and you wanna get back into B's good books. You wouldn't have a problem buying her flowers and putting kisses on the card?"

"Well, Buffy would know it didn't mean ... that."

"But, if B _didn't_ know, then you wouldn't do it?"

"But, she does know."

"So, how come when I asked her, she didn't seem too sure at first?"

Willow looked at Buffy.

"I _was _sure!" said Buffy. "I mean, if I didn't _sound_ too sure, it's only 'cause, well, you wouldn't buy me flowers in the first place. You know, like you said."

"Nah, Will just said she wouldn't _have_ to. I was askin' about _if_ you got flowers and a card from her."

"Well, I ... I mean, I wouldn't be _offended_ or anything," said Buffy.

Faith raised an eyebrow. "Offended?"

"No, _not _offended, like ... I wouldn't be freaked out. That's all I meant. I think."

Faith shrugged. "How about you, Will? If B bought you some flowers and put kisses on the card, you'd be okay with that?"

"Of course I would. I mean, 'cause I would know it was just, you know, a best-friend thing or something."

"Yeah, but I'm _not_ the girl's best friend and she doesn't know me that well to know how I'd take it if she wasn't tryin' to send a message."

Willow glanced at Buffy, who was looking down at the floor now.

"I still don't think it's, you know, a dykey thing," Willow muttered with a shrug.

"C'mon, Will, why else does a chick buy another chick flowers and put kisses on the card?" Faith released a long sigh. "Maybe you could have a word with her or something. You know, about how not to be totally obvious about it when you're not even sure if the other chick's interested? Don't get me wrong, she's not bad looking and all …"

Buffy's head shot up. "Ew, please tell me you didn't just said that."

"Hey, I'm just sayin'." Faith shrugged. "I mean, sorry if I can't be all 'offended' about it."

"I said I _wouldn't_ be offended."

"So, like, you'd be flattered, right?"

"No!"

"You wouldn't be flattered if Willow gave you flowers with little kisses on the card?"

"No, not like that."

"Like what?"

"Like ... like the way you're implying."

Faith looked at Willow and frowned. "So, you don't think Will's cute?"

"Well, of course she's ... but, not like ... you know ..."

And that's when Willow knew.

She looked at Faith and sighed. "You're such a smart-ass."

"Huh?" said Buffy.

Faith shook her head, a wide grin stretching across her face. "Man, that was fuckin' priceless."

Buffy frowned. "What? You mean ..." She looked at Willow.

"I'm gonna go put these in some water," Faith said. "Nice try ... _girlfriends_." Chuckling, she left the office.

* * *

Two days later, there was a knock on Willow's bedroom door. She put down the book she was reading and answered it.

"I woulda gotten them back sooner, but I just got my own stuff sorted out today." Faith held out a pair of freshly laundered, not-quite properly folded jeans. "You don't iron them or anything, do ya?"

Willow gave her a look. "No."

"Well ... thanks." Faith headed back down the hallway.

When she shut the door, Willow crossed over to the chest of drawers under the window and opened it. She started to re-fold the jeans, when she noticed a couple of flecks of paper around one of the back pockets. With a sigh, she slipped her fingers inside and pulled out a small rectangle of machine-wash-stiffened card. The wash-and-dry cycle had frayed the edges and faded the print, but she could just about make out the store's logo in the corner and the neatly-written message in what used to be black ink:

**_To the best Slayer in the world_**

**_x x x_**


	10. Eight: Can't You Hear Me Knocking, Pt 1

**Please note:** Chapter Eight, split into four parts, contains a number of (largely non-explicit) references to sexual violence and other disturbing and/or potentially upsetting attitudes, acts and behaviors.

* * *

**EIGHT: CAN'T YOU HEAR ME KNOCKING, Pt. 1  
**

_immortal aphrodite of the broidered throne_

_daughter of zeus weaver of wiles_

_i pray thee break not my spirit with anguish and distress o queen_

_but come hither if ever before thou didst hear my voice afar …_

* * *

**Saturday **

"Are you for real, Rosenberg?"

"Excuse me?" Willow glanced up briefly from her laptop. Then looked again. Because the part of her brain that noticed things like dogs in high heels and fish riding bicycles suddenly realized that it was Faith. In the library. With a book.

The world righted itself when the Slayer approached the table and lay the volume on the desk beside Willow's elbow.

"B says this is for you. Arrived with a stack of files from Cleveland."

Willow examined the book's front cover – _The Great Rite: New Paradigms_. Giles had mentioned it a couple of emails back; she could practically _see_ him cleaning his glasses while he'd typed the description.

"Thanks." She looked at the Slayer again. "Am I for real what?"

"Saturday afternoon ... sun's out ... hot, sweaty chicks playin' touch football in the backyard. And you're here. In the library."

Willow frowned. "Evil doesn't break for the weekends, I burn easily, and ... and I'm just gonna pretend you were referring to my non-participation with that third comment. Anyway, shouldn't you be out there ... touching the football too?"

"You know me, Willow – I touch, I score, I move on." The quick grin the Slayer flashed morphed just as swiftly into a frown as she prodded the beginnings of a purplish-brown bruise just above her right elbow. "'Sides, some of those newbies are vicious."

Willow smiled a little, sympathy and amusement both. "Well, sorry for your pain and thanks again for the book, but I'm sure you've got other things to do ..."

Faith didn't leave. Instead, she looked at the laptop, the grin returning. "You gone all Jews for Jesus on us?"

"Sorry?"

A questioning eyebrow rose as the Slayer tapped the screen. "JC?"

Willow glanced at the folder labeled with the initials under question. A relatively recent addition to the multitude of files and folders and subfolders she carried around with her like … well, like some people carried a bible, she supposed. A fount of accumulated knowledge and ancient wisdom manifest in 70GB of hard drive space responsible for hosting myriad virtual stacks of paperless documentation dedicated to the eternal battle against the forces of darkness. Plus some mp3s.

"Jenny Calendar."

"The teacher, right?" The Slayer's already diminished grin twisted into an apologetic wince. "You know, I've been lookin' into getting my mouth wired shut ..."

Willow smiled. "When I'm workin' on something and I get stuck, I put it in there."

A pattern of curious ridges formed on Faith's brow as she lifted herself to sit on the edge of the table. "Does it help?"

Not quite what Willow had meant, but now she thought about it ...

"Yeah, I guess it does."

Faith nodded, clompy boot-clad feet swinging gently back and forth, casting a shifting dark grey shadow on the floor beside the table. "So, what was she like?"

"Jenny? Um, smart ... a great teacher. Fun too. She was — I thought she was cool. She knew about magic and ..." Willow hesitated, a flush of self-consciousness already beginning to warm the skin behind her ears. But, Faith's interest seemed authentic enough and it was nice to have the chance to talk about Jenny. She braved herself for the inevitable smirk, or even snigger. "And I guess maybe I wanted to be like her."

The resulting smile was remarkably subdued. "Yeah?"

"A little, yeah."

Faith shifted, gripping the edge of the table lightly. "Was she pretty?"

"Yeah, she was."

The Slayer merely nodded, eyes drifting to the carpeted floor between her feet, offering no comment. But, she didn't have to; Willow could see the unasked question behind the otherwise neutral gesture. She supposed she could have taken offense, but there was nothing lewd in the Slayer's conjecture, or if there was, it didn't show. Simple curiosity more than anything.

"Since you didn't ask – no." Willow tried for levity, but she could feel the blush deepen nonetheless. "I mean, not like — She was a grown-up."

Faith chuckled; apparently budding lesbians who didn't have girl-crushes _were_ funny. But, there was nothing mean in the response and Willow smiled back, glancing at the screen once again.

JC. She would have been amused at the irony: the Techno-Pagan who'd treated archaic notions of power and knowledge with disdain, who'd named herself rather than carry the brand of her vengeful forefathers, mistaken for the son of a patriarchal God.

Willow looked at Faith. "I wish you could have known her."

"How come?"

She wanted to choose her words carefully: _I think she'd have seen right through you; maybe she could have helped_. But, that was too harsh, not to mention self-righteous, and she could just imagine the shots being fired from either side:

_You're the one needed help, moron!_

_No way! You were so much eviler than me!_

Better to err on the side of cheesy:

"I think you'd have gotten along really well with her."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do." Willow felt her expression adjust; the smile remained, but she was aware of something else behind it now, something she wasn't quite able to pin down. "Giles loved her. I'm sure he still thinks about her."

Faith tapped her nails lightly against the surface of the table, eyes cast downward; Willow could see the wheels start to turn. Finally, the Slayer faced her once again, fixing her with a look at once decisive and oddly reserved. "You know, I woulda killed him before he could —"

"I don't blame Buffy ..."

The Slayer shook her head. "No, that's not what — I just ... it woulda been easier for me. Back then, I mean."

A silence dropped, not uncomfortable, but slightly ... scratchy? Like something needed to be said. But, the moment passed and Faith hopped to the floor and, with a smirk, gestured to the book once again.

"Nice pics, by the way. Guess the old paradigms weren't doin' the business, huh?"

"I don't suppose it would make a difference if I used the words 'purely for research' and 'educational value'?"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Willow smiled back slightly as the Slayer turned to leave the library, thankful she hadn't asked the question that had popped into her head only moments before. The can of worms wouldn't have opened so much as exploded and – even putting that icky image aside – she knew the answer already. Everyone did.

_"Have you ever wanted to be like someone else?"_

* * *

**Some Girls # 1**

She'd wanted to be like Wonder Woman.

("The guy who invented Wonder Woman helped develop the lie detector. Did you know that? The lasso – you know, make 'em tell the truth?")

Then it had happened. No warning – but, something had reached inside and ... and at first she thought it was God because who else could do something like that? But, it wasn't God because no such thing as an interventionist God; she knew _that_ – it was every woman for himself.

(She'd read books and papers and articles, in the library and online:

_How would you feel if it was your sister/your mother/your daughter/your friend?_

But, for some of them it just didn't seem to matter.)

When he came to her room that night, he looked at her and he knew something was different.

And she'd dreamed about it while she waited:

_Are you ready to be strong?_

* * *

"What's that you're readin'?"

Dawn turned the magazine around on the countertop toward Faith, allowing herself a smirk at the slightly startled look on the Slayer's face.

"Thought that went out with the garbage. Big sis know you're readin' it?"

Dawn kept the magazine turned round. "I'm not reading it – I was curious." She glanced at one of the pictures then back at Faith. "You realize this stuff is for guys, don't you? It's not real. Lesbians don't do — I mean, have you seen some of the ads at the back?"

The Slayer shrugged. "Was all they had in the store."

With a short sigh, Dawn closed the magazine and looked at Faith, felt her nostrils start to flare and wished they wouldn't. She hoped a low and unruffled voice might make up for it:

"I know you do things you don't mean to sometimes. And say things. But, if you ever talk about Tara like that again, I'll ... I'll ..."

Dawn spluttered to a halt. She really should have planned this better. She wasn't afraid of Faith – not like she probably should be – but she wasn't an idiot either, and if she was going to start lobbing threats at convicted murderers, the least she could do was actually _sound_ threatening. She was pretty good at threats, as a rule.

"Beat me to death while I'm sleeping?" The total lack of mirth or sarcasm in Faith's voice made Dawn's eyes widen.

"Um, yeah. I guess so."

"Fair enough."

The words were out before Dawn even realized she wanted to say them: "You know, I haven't forgotten what you did to my mom."

The Slayer's eyebrows lowered, as if contemplating something curious and strange.

"No, I guess you wouldn't forget that."

Dawn felt her face flush. Irritation, anger, a touch of embarrassment even. _It happened. Of course it happened_.

"You _know_ it happened."

Another shrug. "'Course it did. Don't suppose your monks were lookin' to add criminal negligence to the mix. Think they might have worked their mojo a little wider, though. I coulda been one of the good guys."

Dawn felt a rush of undeserved compassion hit her, one of those traits the monks had apparently decided would be a nice thing to afflict her with.

She smiled, just sympathetic enough; no need to go overboard. "I think they were in a hurry? More than one major alteration might have been too time-consuming."

Willow came into the kitchen then. Dawn quickly slid the magazine from the counter top onto her lap, face burning; not helped by the smirk Faith was aiming right at her.

"Have you guys seen Buffy?"

Faith shrugged. "Blonde chick? Kinda short?"

Willow rolled her eyes.

"Think she was headed to the Bates Motel."

"Sorry?" said Willow.

"You know, like in that movie."

"_Psycho_," added Dawn.

Faith looked at her, eyebrow quirked. Dawn hastened on:

"The old stables out back?"

"Oh, yeah. I guess those rooms do sorta look like —" Willow started to smile, then paused. "Actually, that's kinda creepy. Maybe we should try and make them look less mother-fixated-scary-guy-friendly ..."

Dawn watched Willow head out the back door, remembered a couple of lines from a song she'd heard on an oldies station one time:

_It's easy to be good, it's hard to be baaad, stay out of trouble and you'll be glaaad ..._

Except there was a time when pilfering jewelry and lipstick and ornate toothbrushes had seemed like the easiest thing in the world to do and she'd been glad enough for the distraction. Maybe the song had it all turned around: being bad wasn't so hard – it was being good that took all the work. Only some people just made it look easy.

Another thought occurred to her then, how weird it was to have Willow sleep just down the hall again; weirder to find herself listening for other quiet footsteps headed that way; weirdest of all to fall asleep some nights, half-expecting a tap on the door and a kiss goodnight from the people she missed most; the best people she'd ever known in her life.

Real, not made up.

She looked across the kitchen where Faith was now pouring herself a glass of milk; healthy teeth and bones in another fabricated body, raped into existence thousands of years before, like her sister. And where did Faith pick up that habit anyway? Dawn couldn't remember her drinking milk much before she turned evil.

But, then, Dawn couldn't really remember a lot of things.

* * *

When Faith came home with Buffy that first night for dinner, Dawn had eyed the interloper with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. All she needed was another Slayer to get all the attention and, sure enough, their mom had fussed over her like she was a long-lost cousin or something.

Faith had responded to Dawn with a wariness of her own, putting just a little too much effort into her effortless greeting, regarding her with a small frown whenever Dawn asked her a question, like where did she came from and where did she live and why was she in Sunnydale and where did she go to school then why didn't she go to school?

Okay, while Dawn plied her with questions – partly because she just wanted to know, and partly because she was being a brat who wanted to test Buffy's new sidekick.

Halfway through dinner, Buffy and their mom went into the kitchen and Faith reached over and took a couple of fries from Buffy's plate. She looked at Dawn, grinned, and put her finger over her lips. Dawn giggled and decided then and there that maybe Faith would make a pretty good ally when it came to Dawn's battle against the annoyance known as Having Buffy for a Big Sister.

It turned out she hadn't seen Faith that much, though, especially after what happened with Mrs Post. But, when she did see her, the other Slayer was always ready with a new joke or another tall(ish) tale or a sympathetic eye-roll when Buffy was being particularly annoying.

Then Christmas Eve came and Faith turned up at the house with small, scrappily-wrapped presents for all of them and, while Buffy was tending to the latest Angel crisis, the other Slayer had watched movies with Dawn and her mom and told them funny stories, every so often going to the window and peering outside and checking that everything was okay, watching over them, just like Buffy had asked her to.

When it snowed, Dawn had almost peed herself with excitement. The three of them went outside, her mom standing by the door – smiling, contented, like the snow had soothed away the jitters, for a while at least. Faith showed Dawn how to make the best snowballs, and when Dawn said wouldn't it be great if they could pack tiny stakes in the snow and then, you know, throw them at vamps, instead of saying it was a dumb idea, Faith said that, yeah, it would be cool. Then Dawn said they should make snow angels, like she'd seen people do in movies. Faith had glanced down at the short skirt she was wearing, then smiled and shrugged and they lay down in the snow and flapped their arms up and down while her mom had laughed and didn't say one word about Dawn getting her clothes in a mess. Later, while they dried themselves off with towels and drank nog, Dawn thought perhaps it was the best Christmas ever, at least since their dad left. And she thought that Faith could still be an ally of sorts, even if, by then, she could tell that Faith wanting to be Buffy's new best friend was just the tip of the iceberg. She might have been only twelve – and maybe she wasn't totally sure what the rest of the iceberg might mean – but she wasn't completely stupid.

Then Faith went evil.

When Angel went bad, Buffy had told Dawn it was because he lost his soul, but when Dawn asked if Faith had lost hers, Buffy said no.

A few weeks later, just before she and her mom left town before Graduation Day, Dawn took the present Faith had brought over on Christmas Eve and dropped it in the trash and wondered if people in comas could be remorseful about the things they did; wondered if maybe, somewhere in the dreams she was having about the types of things evil people dream about, Faith was sorry she broke Dawn's heart.

* * *

**Sunday**

_No one had ever asked her for that kind of advice before. Homework, yes. Classwork, of course. Computers or any other kind of electronic equipment they couldn't figure out themselves, no problem._

_This was different. She had a girlfriend. The kind she'd read about in magazines, seen on silly TV shows her ma didn't like her to watch. The kind where, if she'd had anywhere else to go that night, she could say: "Sorry, can't come out, I'm helping my girlfriend get ready for her date."_

_And Xander was there too. Life just didn't get better than that, did it? _

* * *

_Whether we're standin' on your doorstep, or sittin' in a park_

_Or strollin' down a shady lane, or dancin' in the dark_

_Where I can hold you in my arms, look into your pretty eyes_

_Anyplace is paradise when I'm with —_

"This is nice."

Willow glanced quickly at Buffy before turning her attention back to the highway stretched out before them. "Yep, hittin' the road, wind in our hair – metaphorically – and nothin' to stop us hightailing it to Mexico. You know, if we wanted to hightail it."

"I'm sensing a _Thelma and Louise_ vibe." Buffy shimmied a little in her seat. "Hey, does that mean Brad Pitt can come too? And … who's the hot chick equivalent of Brad Pitt?"

"In the movie?"

"No, real life."

"Um … no idea. Anyway, didn't he steal from them?"

Buffy grinned. "Yeah, but, I think it was worth it."

Willow watched from the corner of her eye as Buffy lifted her sunglasses, pushed them back so they rested atop her head. Green-brown eyes sparkled with the kind of open energy that had been missing for so long. Still pain, there was always pain – the burden of responsibility was like a second skin by now – but, these days her best friend was allowed to dream, at least.

"Buffy?"

"Uh-huh?" The Slayer reached for the Starbucks cup wedged in the holder, yanked it free. A little mocha-colored liquid seeped out from under the lid and sloshed onto her hand. "Oh, damn, stupid plastic thingy." Buffy grabbed a napkin. "This is the twenty-first century, right? You'd think by now they'd at least manage to affix — that's a word, isn't it? You'd think they'd manage to —"

"I love you."

Buffy looked at her as she mopped up the spill, the accident-induced frown transforming into a full-blown smile. "Me too, Will. I love —"

"Hey, keep it down, willya?" A disgruntled snort rose from the back. "Tryin' to get some shut-eye here."

Buffy twisted round in her seat. "Lemme amend that to _Thelma and Louise and Grumpy_."

"Nah, just Sleepy."

"Or Dopey."

"Okay … Bitchy."

"Funny ..."

Willow smiled. She'd actually intended to ask Buffy to look at the map, just to check the distance again, but she was glad she'd changed her mind.

Less glad at the stop Faith insisted on only two minutes later.

("What? I just wanna get a burger.")

Willow stood near the back while Buffy commented on Dairy Queen versus Doublemeat product/hygiene/service and Faith ordered some food at the counter, after promising not to say one word outside of anything immediately concerned with _Can I have ..._

When they returned to the car, Buffy said:

"Was that her? The chick with the pierced nose?"

Faith nodded, waited until she swallowed her mouthful of Ultimate-whatever. "Some people like that kinda thing, right, Willow?"

"Um, well, it's not _necessarily_ the same … "

"Okay, so the girl just has to move a little lower before she can —"

"Faith!" Buffy barked.

Willow didn't miss the little smirk from the back seat reflected in the rearview mirror, not exactly sure _what_ to think. Faith thought she was into piercings now? Or maybe Faith was just being ... Faith.

Who, just a few miles later, was still grouching about not being able to sleep.

"Is the music bothering you?" Willow asked.

Faith sat up, leaning forward slightly between the seats. "Wow, really twistin' the knife, aren'tcha?"

"What? Oh, crap, I didn't mean —" Willow lunged for the 'skip' button on the stereo, almost strangling herself with the seatbelt in the process.

"Shit, I'm joking. Leave it on, it's okay."

Buffy was peering at the titles on the CD sleeve. "_Jailhouse ... _oh." The tiny grin that appeared on her face might have led to an outright laugh, but she managed to keep the mirth at a discrete level.

The other Slayer sat back again. "Guess you gotta respect a dude still gets around so much when he's been out of action so long – and I'm talkin' stone-cold and fangless."

"Though he did wear those capes," Buffy pointed out.

"True." Faith leaned forward again, looking at the picture on the sleeve in Buffy's hand. She tapped Willow's seat just behind her shoulder. "And the whole lesbo thing notwithstanding, hafta admit the guy was kinda hot, right?"

Willow cleared her throat. "I'm gay, Faith – not blind."

A quiet chuckle reverberated in Willow's ear. "So, would you do him?"

Buffy made a face. "Ew. He's dead, Faith."

"_Pot calling kettle, come in kettle ..._"

Buffy started to turn round again – not amused.

"He's got a daughter," Willow said quickly. "Sure, the whole freaky marriages thing — you know, kinda disturbing ... but, she looks just like him."

"Lucky for you then," Faith said with a grin. "Too bad she can't sing for shit, but, I guess that's not a deal-breaker."

Willow glanced at Buffy, who gave her a tentatively delivered smile in return.

"No," Willow said, "I guess not."

* * *

While she tried on a few things that weren't dead or sleeveless, Faith thought about the robe that hung behind the bathroom door in her room at home. Not the kind of thing she'd normally wear, but B had at least made an effort to avoid fluffy and pastel. She'd called it a 'housewarming prezzie!' but, Faith had been pretty sure it was a hint not to wander around the house half-undressed with impressionable young women – and Xander – around. She'd also wondered at the time if the Chosen One was thinking about the resident dykes too, but she'd quickly dismissed the idea. Kennedy was too busy trying to keep her wagon hitched to Willow's star, and Willow too preoccupied with finding Slayers, focusing on her new and improved witchy prowess, and trying not to look guilty about Kennedy's wagon hitting every damn rock and pothole on the road.

She pulled back the curtain on the changing room cubicle and stepped outside.

"You look great," said Buffy. "I mean, really."

Faith looked at Willow, who beamed back at her, head bobbing up and down in approval like one of those nodding dogs that, come to think of it, Faith was kind of surprised the redhead hadn't stuck in the rear window of her new wheels yet.

With a little help from Willow's bulging Council-issued Amex, they also helped themselves to a couple of pairs of jeans and tee-shirts apiece, plus a few coats. Then they hit the undies department. Faith suspected the Scoobies were looking for some kind of commentary from her, but she was getting hungry and didn't want to hold things up by seeing how many times she could make them squirm; instead, she wandered through the aisles on her own, hanging back for a bit while the other two got on with it. Didn't stop her wondering if this was the first time Buffy had gone lingerie shopping with her best buddy since Tara tapped shyly on the closet door. But, B seemed okay with it, while Willow ('now with 75% more superbad Wiccan confidence') only cringed in embarrassment once, when a salesgirl asked them if they needed help.

When she asked Faith, the Slayer tilted her head across the racks.

"Just waitin'."

The woman fixed her with a happy little salesgirl smile. "Oh, yes, your friends."

Faith ignored the warm flush that spread across the back of her neck as the salesgirl walked away. She grabbed a few things for herself and waited by the checkout desk.

When Buffy and Willow got there, Faith eyeballed their purchases. Craftily, Buffy had both sets in her basket, so Faith couldn't tell who was buying what without asking, which she didn't do. Nothing too exciting anyhow. No one was looking to get laid on this trip and so the scales were tipped more toward 'functional' than 'fuck me'. Although she couldn't help noticing the redhead's eyes dart around anywhere-but-_there_ when that same salesgirl showed up again. Maybe it hadn't been embarrassment after all. Not that kind anyhow.

"There," said Buffy, all pleased with herself, as they left the mall and headed back to the car. "Don't you feel like a new woman, Faith?"

"I dunno, B." Faith turned to the redhead; some things were just too obvious to pass up. "How about you, Willow? You feel like a new woman yet?"

* * *

_This was too good. Willow Rosenberg batting for the team that slid head-first to base. Girl wasn't bad either, if you liked the wouldn't-say-boo type. Probably meant she was a tiger in the sack, or else boring as fuck – pun intended._

_What would Buffy do? Spaz a bit probably, now she had to worry about her other best bud using her for jerk-off material too._

_What she wouldn't do was be a fucking bitch about it, stir things up, make cute, mousy Tara from the Wicca group feel like crap._

_The woman who was now Buffy Summers smiled._

_Things change._

* * *

They'd arrived one and a half hours later than scheduled at the first stopover, Willow's estimated arrival time worthless in the face of having to stop the car every ten minutes so Faith could smoke, not to mention Buffy having insisted on a 'quick visit' to a mall _fourteen miles_ off the interstate so they could buy Faith some 'more appropriate' clothes for the visit ("You know, just the kind of thing that says: _Sometimes I like to wear pants that don't squeak, and, yes, sleeves are good also_.") which, to her credit, Faith had taken in relative good humor once the initial wave of hostility passed. Plus, a break for lunch that had lasted far longer than the allotted time, once bickering over _where_ to eat and _what_ to eat and _how_ to eat had been worked in. Now Willow could hear them through the bathroom door:

_"Don't mess up Willow's bed."_

_"Sorry, B, thought this was yours."_

_"Why would you think that?"_

_"Just figured you'd want the one near the bathroom."_

_"How come?"_

_"'Cause … hell, I dunno. So's you can fix your face in the morning before anyone sees you?"_

_"People in glass houses, Faith – that pillow you're lying on already looks like the Turin Shroud."_

_"There's a couple spares in the closet space, B – Willow won't mind."_

_"That's not the point."_

_"What _is_ the point?"_

_"Um … I forget. But, I had a point. Something about respecting other people's —"_

_"Pillows? Yeah, think there was something about that on Oprah the other day … And, speaking of respect, remind me again who booked all this shit without even consulting me."_

_"If it was up to you, we'd be spending the night in some place with hourly rates. Willow booked it ... and we did consult you. We asked you if you wanted to share with us and you made that stupid joke —"_

_"What-the-fuck-ever."_

A moment of relative silence followed, broken only by the _All in the Family _theme tune coming from the TV.

_"So, in the interests of consulting you about everything, Faith, do you mind if I take a shower once Willow's done?"_

Another pause, then:

_"Feelin' dirty, B?"_

_"You never give up, do you …"_

Willow dressed quickly. She was beginning to wish she'd simply magicked them to Tucson.

("'Cause, you know, a road trip – fun.")

Idiot.

* * *

Willow had never heard anyone talk to Giles the way Faith was talking to him. Except maybe herself.

_"… too much to ask you don't just — Aw, don't gimme that crap, man. Guy was a fuckin' asshole …_"

But, even when she'd been trying to kill him, Willow hadn't used _those_ kinds of words.

Faith was stalking the motel balcony, cell phone in one hand, cigarette in the other, shaking her head at whatever was being said at the other end of the conversation. As she leaned back against the railing, she shot Willow a quick look of incredulity through the open doorway.

Willow sat on the end of her bed, hands twisting nervously at the cuffs of her sweater as Faith continued her diatribe. She turned as she heard the bolt snap back on the bathroom door and Buffy emerged.

The Slayer glanced through the doorway at the front of the room. "What's going on? Is that still Giles?"

Willow nodded. "She's still pretty mad about it."

"How come?" Buffy asked. "I mean, Faith pissed off – yeah. Creepy Wiccan guy – check. But, isn't she overreacting slightly?"

Willow started to shrug, just as Faith came back inside. The Slayer pushed the now-silent phone into Willow's hand and shook her head.

"Asshole."

Buffy frowned. "I'm so hoping for your sake you don't mean Giles."

"What? No, the Wicca guy. Fuckin' jerk." Faith picked up a Little Debbie from the pack on the night table and turned to Willow, waggling the snack at her for emphasis. "Here on in, anything the Coven's got to say to you, you get it direct from them."

Before Willow could respond, Buffy cut in:

"You told Giles that?"

Faith shrugged. "Yeah. No point goin' through him first. Wasn't the Coven forgot to mention how uptight Lord fuckin' Voldemort was."

"But, the Coven's a part of the Council and Giles is —"

"Isn't Willow supposed to be in charge of the Wicca deal?"

"So, what, you're taking Giles out of the loop?"

"No." Faux-patience through a grimace. "The Coven can tell Giles whatever the hell they want, but they want Willow to do something, they talk to her themselves, that's all. What's the problem, B?"

"It's ... you're treating him like an idiot."

Faith's lip curled. "I'm treating him like someone who doesn't need to hear everything first." She waved the Little Debbie in Willow's direction again. "He's not _her_ Watcher. He's never _been_ her Watcher. Christ, he's not even _your _Watcher anymore."

Buffy's chin took on a defiant tilt. "Am I missing some big point here?"

"Point is, he doesn't need to be acting like it."

"He's acting all Watchery 'cause he passes on a couple of suggestions from the Coven?"

"Right. We're talkin' about a couple lousy phone calls or a fuckin' email. What's the big? She's not a fuckin' moron. All's I know is, when we don't even get a heads-up about some Wicca prick we wanna take on who might just start mouthin' off about 'potential loose cannons' like he fuckin' _knows_ her, maybe a change is what's needed, that's all."

Buffy folded her arms across her chest. "And you made the decision to talk to Giles about this without discussing it with Willow first?"

"Don't turn this around, B."

"Turn what around? How is what you just did any different from —"

Faith stabbed a finger at Buffy, dark eyes flashing. "Difference is, I didn't fuckin' ignore her then get on her case and be all _Mr Concerned-Guy_ when the shit hit the fan."

"What are you talking about?" Buffy snapped. "You weren't even here when Willow ... when all that stuff happen—"

"Guys?" Willow stood up. "Can everyone stop yelling?"

The two Slayers looked at her.

Willow cleared her throat; fortune favored a clean windpipe. "Buffy, I think Faith's right."

Buffy's eyes blinked rapidly. "He didn't ignore —"

("How would _you_ know? You weren't even _here_.")

"No, I just mean, it's _not_ a big deal if they contact me directly. I talk to them regularly anyway." Willow smiled. "I love Giles, you know that and, and he's still gonna be the Big Boss – you know, not in a mafia kind of way, in a Giles way. But, we're big girls now, Buffy."

Buffy's eyes darted from Willow to Faith and back to Willow again. Concern, certainly, but Willow thought she saw a flicker of guilt too – perhaps remembering the man she'd rejected once herself when she outgrew fatherly concernwisdomknowledge.

_(Daddy's home_. But, not _her_ daddy. Never her daddy. Friend, mentor, another high school crush. Xander was her boy band; Giles was someone to _be_. _Buckle up, Rupert, 'cause I've turned —)_

Buffy shrugged. "Okay, fine. You're right. I guess it makes sense."

When Faith went back to her own room to freshen up before dinner, Buffy turned to Willow and said:

"I'm not the only one who got flashbacks to Projection 101, am I?"

* * *

**Some Girls # 2 **

Willow scared her. Not 'fraidy cat scared, but the kind of scared that made her not want to look too closely, except she couldn't help looking, couldn't help trying to see behind those eyes that she could swear changed color the longer she looked – green/brown/black/blue/an occasional hint of yellow. With a gaze so intense, she was sure it could melt steel at a hundred paces. And the way Willow smiled sometimes was ... kind of hard to explain, but it was the kind of smile she could easily imagine turn into something that the average person, or even a recently ordained superhero, really wouldn't want to come across in a dark alley anytime soon. Anytime later, for that matter.

In fact, sometimes when Willow stood near her, she was convinced she could feel waves of something thick and dark and hot emanate from her. Like standing next to an open furnace that might flare up any second and take your skin off, although – whispered, late-night history lessons aside – she was willing to concede that was just her imagination going into overdrive.

But, it had made her wonder about the girl who'd died, about what kind of person she'd been. About what kind of person could provoke that kind of a reaction in someone. She'd imagined someone like Buffy except not like Buffy. Willow was Buffy's right hand, which, considering the balance of power, had to count for _something_; but, then, Buffy had no need to inspire that kind of protectiveness – Buffy was a warrior.

But, she liked Willow. Willow was super-nice and, for sure, she was one of the good guys. She was Buffy's best friend and Xander's best friend and she'd dated Kennedy and if she wasn't as big and loud and outwardly fierce as the Wiccan from Sunnydale, California who'd done _this_ to her could have (should have?) been, then that was just one of those unexpected things that was no big deal. Like when she first found out that Kennedy wasn't the name of Willow's _boy_friend.

* * *

**Monday**

Faith picked up the book from the ledge, turning over a couple of pages. Greek poetry, according to the cover, but the words were in English. She let her eyes travel over a few lines, smiling wryly to herself as she shut the small paperback over again. English or not, still didn't make a whole lot of sense.

Returning the book to the ledge, she looked out the second floor window to the courtyard below where, at that moment, Caridad's partner-in-slayage was showing Willow some magic herbs or weeds or whatever in the plant beds alongside the apartment building's pale stucco walls.

With a knack for picking out the bad guys' weak spots, the girl was probably one of the best fighters they had; one of the first newbies they'd picked up after Willow's big spell too, when the redhead was still magically groping her way through half the world's population for the ones who'd chosen themselves. Big Brother had hugged his sister tight, offered Faith a hard-won smile as he let the girl go. "You'll take care of her? She's the only one I've got." Faith heard the anxiety behind the joke, but she could swear there was something else there too: trust, confidence in her. The words in her head had tripped over themselves, desperate to get out, clear a few things up: _murdererliaridiotloserpieceofshitkillerworthlessdu mbfuckinguserwhoreslut_. Easier to fall back on than to accept a whole new burden, a whole new set of names. Better the devil everyone despised. But, she'd summoned an easy smile – the _no worries_ look – enough to keep the quiet terror at bay.

And, when she wasn't kicking ass, turned out the blonde was a big nerd too, with a shy smile for everyone and her nose stuck in a book more often than not, something Faith had discovered on the steps of a Super-8 one afternoon when she'd told her the story about the Missouri vamp and the gators.

("A story? Lemme see ... you like alligator stories?"

The eighteen year old looked skeptical. "You mean like Wally Gator?")

When she finished, the girl had gone to her room and returned with a dog-eared paperback she was reading: _Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ (not _The Adventures_ apparently – there was always more shit to deal with). Faith flipped through a few pages, scanned a couple of lines.

She raised an eyebrow. "Some nice words here."

"I think ... I mean, he was making a point. You know, despite the notice at the front."

Faith turned back to the start of the book, read the little paragraph out loud. She looked at the girl. "Funny guy."

As she handed the book back, Robin turned up. He glanced at the cover and started talking to the girl about all kinds of stuff – 'satire' and 'romanticism', myths and hypocrisy – some things Faith had been able to follow better than others. Mr Principal Guy back in action, the days-old bulge around his midsection no barrier that time.

But, they'd fucked that night too. Not quite boy-girl_ fucking_, given his condition, but, despite her offer to let him just watch – ease him in – he'd wanted her close, wanted her near him, wanted _her_. And while they'd been not quite boy-girl _fucking_, she'd thought about the words she'd seen in the book, almost couldn't finish the deed for thinking about it, dark eyes gleaming back at her in the light coming from above the sink in a pissy little motel room in the middle of Christ-Knows-Where. She'd sneered to herself once about the guy who grew up in Beverly Hills who thought _she_ was sheltered; forgot he'd probably taken his share of crap over the years – always someone else's petty little size tens hovering above, itching to stomp any upstarts back where they belonged.

Now, Faith watched Willow and the girl lean over a flower bed, mouths set in tiny _ooh_ shapes, like they'd just discovered one of the plants had 'cure for cancer' tagged on it. Willow said something and the girl laughed, pale blue eyes flashing in the afternoon sun, covering her mouth with her hand while her shoulders shook spastically. If Faith didn't know better, she'd have bet a dime to a dollar Willow was working on bagging herself a cuddly little fuck-toy for bedtime. Another dime the girl would go for it, even if she didn't realize it yet; couldn't beat that 'smart _and_ shy' routine. Either that or Willow's 'Wickedest Witch in the West' rep would win her over. _Don't you wanna feel even _more_ special, baby ..._

"Faith?"

She turned away from the window and saw Buffy gesturing to a photograph on the wall.

"Check this out."

Faith stood next to her, felt the other Slayer's shoulder touch her own, blonde hair sliding against her cheek as Buffy tilted her head to the side. The picture was one Caridad had taken not long before the big dispatch: the Chosen Two standing together in an awkward show of camaraderie outside a 7-Eleven in Arizona.

"Look, Faith, you're smiling. Sort of smiling."

"Think that's called 'squinting', B."

Buffy pressed against her shoulder again. "Don't ruin it for me."

A sudden clenching in her chest made Faith take a step back, losing contact. Concern flickered behind Buffy's eyes and, for a moment, Faith worried that the other Slayer was going to try and wriggle her way out of it, digging them both deeper in the process, but Buffy smiled quickly instead and turned to Caridad.

"It's nice that you have all these here."

The younger Slayer nodded in agreement. "Yeah, makes it kind of homey."

Faith cast a glance over the other pictures on the wall. Slayer comrades mostly, plus, a few frames away, Willow and Kennedy grinning goofily into the camera, looking for all the world like love's young dream. No, didn't see that one comin' at all.

Caridad was eyeing the same picture, chewing her lip. "Do you think I should take that down?"

"Oh, I don't know ... I don't _think_ you have to do that." Buffy looked at Faith, like, somehow, Faith was suddenly an expert on proper 'what to do when your lesbo friends break up' etiquette.

Faith stared back for a moment, finally giving in with a shrug. "I guess it's okay. They're still buddies, right?"

Buffy smiled brightly – _look, ma, no trauma!_ – infectious enough to prompt a less spazzy smile in return.

The sound of breathless chatter spilled into the apartment as the front door opened:

_"... so pretty, you wouldn't imagine it could do all that."_

_"I know, I know – isn't it amazing?"_

Willow shut the door behind them, pale skin reddened slightly from a combination of afternoon sunshine and the flush of shared geekery. Faith studied the slick sheen of perspiration on her forehead and along her nose. Below her neck too, where a tiny bead of sweat was trickling slowly down inside the front of her shirt. Long hair spilled over her shoulders – _Christ, when did it get so long?_ – eyes sparkling warm and bright, with the kind of fierce intelligence that could have had the world on its knees anyway if she hadn't been so stoked about trying to destroy it first. And that smile that managed to be sly and sweet in a single instance ...

Willow put her hand on the other girl's arm, started to talk some more about pretty, magic things, and suddenly Faith wondered if maybe she didn't know better, after all.

She cleared her throat. "You guys ready to motor? I'll drive. Willow, you sit up front with me, rest of you squeeze in back, okay?"

Buffy blinked. "Yes, sir."

Faith didn't miss the curious looks from the other two Slayers. And not the one Willow was giving her either.

* * *

**Some Girls # 3**

Once, when one of the other girls asked Willow if lesbians hated men, Willow looked kind of startled and, after a couple of _umm_s and looking at Giles – who'd rolled his eyes and muttered something that might have been _Dear Lord_ – she said, no, they just didn't _need_ them and that seemed to upset some guys. Faith sniggered from behind her menu and said that, yeah, it was mostly straight chicks hated them, 'cause they were the ones had to deal with them. Xander said, _hey_ – but in a jokey kind of way – and Robin chuckled and Buffy laughed, then looked kind of guilty about it.

And she laughed as well, along with some of the other girls, and then there were more jokes about all kinds of dumb, silly stuff and more laughing and something about Britney in a stray copy of the _Enquirer_ made them laugh even more and a couple of girls got into a Jellie Bellie fight and someone else snorted 7-Up out her nose she was laughing so hard.

She'd looked at Willow and Faith and Buffy, sat around the small group of tables they'd commandeered in the corner of a diner off of Highway 60 – the three of them powerful and brave and funny and different kinds of smart; and silly and strong and beautiful. They looked like _her_, like all the heroes she'd never read about. And she thought about what he might have said:

_Teach the dyke a lesson – who the fuck does she think she is?_

_Make the dark one take it on her knees – shut her the fuck up._

_Blondie, man, she's just begging to get fu—_

"Are you okay?" Buffy was looking at her across the table, wiping at the corner of her eye with the heel of her hand.

"What? Yeah, just ... I'm fine. Everything's fine."

She sat back and sipped her milkshake.

Willow and Faith and Buffy.

Three cunts waiting to get fucked, that was all.

* * *

Navigating the fence that sectioned off the temporarily abandoned site had been easy enough. Trickier was making their way through the relentless torrent toward the blurry outline of the partially installed guard rail that protected the eastern side of the former Sunnydale.

The sudden heavy downpour had turned the sky several shades of streaky charcoal and the earth to a shallow swamp. The result: visibility poor, footing unsteady. Experience accumulated from countless hours of nighttime Scooby activity probably helped a little, but not enough to prevent Willow's foot slipping on a particularly slimy patch of waterlogged terrain.

A hand grabbed hold of her upper arm, sparing her from an impromptu mudbath. She turned, intending to deliver a smile of thanks, but found herself grimacing instead. Yet another thing to be pissed off at Hollywood for: wet hair plastered to a rain-streaked face while that same rain trickled off the end of a scrunched up nose really wasn't as hot a look as the movies made out.

Buffy grimaced back. "Drowned rat?"

"I wouldn't say _rat_ ... kitten maybe?"

"A drowned kitten? Willow, I'm shocked."

"I've just given myself nightmares, haven't I?"

With a quick smile, Buffy let go of Willow's arm and wiped her wet hands on the thighs of her equally wet jeans. "Weird to be back, huh?"

Willow glanced over toward the still-distant crater's edge. "Tell me about it."

A low rumble passed overhead, followed closely by a stuttering slash of lightning that, for three short instances, turned everything a lighter shade of grey. The figures a few steps in front of them came to a halt and turned round.

"You sure this isn't some kinda mystical rain of crap?" asked Faith.

"Positive," Willow said. "If it was mystical, it'd be prettier."

Four pairs of Slayer eyes exchanged skeptical glances. Slipping and sliding through two inches of mud on a dark and stormy late Monday afternoon apparently didn't provide the most cordial atmosphere for magic humor.

Willow dropped the funny: "No, it's not mystical."

With a short shrug, Faith turned away again and the five of them resumed their trek. Willow glanced at the Slayer's boots, more practical than anyone else's under the circumstance, but fortuitously so, rather than with any great thought as to possible poor weather conditions. These days, Faith dressed principally for action of the demon-fighting persuasion, whether demon-fighting or not; and, with a few minor adjustments, her daily attire would cover her from rumbles in the jungle to adventures on a Himalayan mountain-top. Or muddy excursions to old Hellmouths, although not even Faith – fortuitously or otherwise – had remembered to bring her new waterproof jacket.

When they reached the rail, they fanned out; Buffy and Willow took one side, Caridad and her colleague the other, while Faith had already started for the several large piles of rubble dumped about fifty or so yards away from the crater's edge, all looking for clues for whatever was responsible for the weirdness the younger Slayers had mentioned on the phone two days before during their weekly check-in.

According to Caridad, a couple of incidents of cattle having their throats ripped out and blood drained had been reported in the local press and, from the Slayers' investigations, it looked like it _might_ be the work of a vampire. Strange, but the old Hellmouth attracted quite a few vamps – Willow supposed it was sort of like Graceland for the undead – and creatures of the night who seemed to prefer animals to humans probably wasn't anything to panic about.

But, since there was other nearby-ish business to attend to anyway and it _was_ sort of weird, they'd offered to swing by. Plus, Willow supposed, it was possible enough time had passed so she might finally be able to look at the remains of her hometown and not want to cry, not want to claw her way through the dirt and rubble until her fingers bled.

Searching for her.

* * *

_"Willow?"_

_A hand on her back. Gentle. Not pushing. Never pushing. Comforting. Mostly._

_"You should try to eat something, sweetie."_

_She raised her head from the pillow, twisted round. "I wasn't — I should have been her Big Gun."_

_"You were there for her, baby. She wouldn't want —"_

_"Stupid fucking useless …"_

_"Willow, no."_

_She let herself be gathered up and held against flesh soft and warm, fingers combing through her hair. Tiny kisses. Tender words that made sense again. _

_A crushed mind and a lost love. A crushed body with a lost soul. She'd fixed one, why not the other?_

* * *

_Rubble and dirt and mud ... and, hey, some more rubble ... and, ooh, more dirt too_. Willow released an impatient sigh. She was glad ... more than glad the Hellmouth didn't appear to be in any danger of coming to life again. Apart from the lack of visible evidence, she could feel it. Had done even as they'd approached the signs a mile along the highway warning them to turn back. The Sunnydale Hellmouth was shut for good. But looking for clues for a maybe-stray-vampire or some other kind of demon was boring to say the least. Although at least the rain had let up enough so they weren't being drenched.

She glanced over at Faith, now a good deal further away from them. The Slayer looked less bored, her head tilted forward, brow furrowed in concentration as she moved around the piles of rubble. Every now and then she'd pause, cocking her head to the side to check something out, before shrugging to herself and continuing her investigation.

Faith might be the wicked-ass 'bad girl', always ready with a smart comment or dumb joke too, but Willow had noticed the quiet, solemn diligence with which she approached other, less violent tasks. Back in high school, her serious, pensive countenance when they were researching, or discussing some kind of imminent danger had struck Willow as kind of comical, almost as though you could actually _see_ her thinking things through. Then, for a while, Willow had told herself it was a put-on, that Faith was simply trying to present a picture of depth and intelligence where there was none. These days, she was inclined more toward her initial impression. Faith was neither stupid nor shallow – well, no more than the rest of them could be at times. She also found herself less amused when she saw the creases on the Slayer's brow and the frown on her lips and the way her eyes got just a fraction darker as she turned something over in her mind. Well, maybe still a _little_ amused, but in a less smug-and-ever-so-slightly-bitchy way. She kind of enjoyed watching Faith in deep-and-thoughtful mode. It was almost kinda —

Suddenly Faith turned toward them, waving. Willow raised her hand to give a polite wave back, then paused – no, _signaling to get their attention_. Rolling her eyes at her own obtuseness, she turned to the Slayer beside her.

"I think Faith's found something."

Buffy looked up from her own investigation. "Thank God. If I had to look at one more piece of crushed brick ..."

They headed toward the other Slayer, Caridad and her colleague approaching from the other side.

"Something important?" Buffy asked as they neared.

"Kinda think maybe yeah." Faith gestured to the dirt behind the section of rubble in front of them.

As they moved round, Willow looked down, squinting so she could see properly. She studied the pattern on the ground, her eyes widening the further along they moved. Glancing back at the four Slayers, she blinked – just to be sure, although their own expressions told her she probably wasn't imagining it – then turned her attention back to the display before them.

About a yard in front of the small mountain of stone, sand and mud, a collection of smaller stones had been arranged in a distinct pattern in order to spell out a number of words, relatively neatly, in letters about one foot high. The message – and there was no doubt that it _was_ a message – read:

**WILLOW - LOOKING FOR YOU**


	11. Eight: Can't You Hear Me Knocking, Pt 2

**Eight: Can't You Hear Me Knocking, Pt. 2**

"She thinks it's Tara." Buffy shut the door behind them as they entered Faith's room.

"Wicked-obvious." Faith began rummaging through the larger of two bags which had apparently been tossed onto the bed when they'd arrival at the hotel earlier that day.

"So?"

"So, what?"

"So, do you think we should talk to her about it?"

"We?" Faith raised an eyebrow. "Look, I appreciate all the 'let's include Faith' shit you've been pulling, but —"

"What do you mean, 'pulling'? I haven't been 'pulling' any—"

"Okay, I just mean, you're her best bud – you don't need me to start puttin' my two cents in when it comes to Tara." Faith pulled a black police jacket from the bag and slipped it on, running her hands down the front, far too slowly than Buffy reckoned was really necessary. "Whaddaya think? Pretty hot, huh?"

"Very fetching – the irony suits you." Buffy sat down on the other bed. "So, do you think _I_ should talk to her?"

"Honest? I don't know. I mean, I never knew the girl ..."

"You met her."

She saw Faith's shoulders tense for a second, before nonchalance kicked in once more. Shrugging the jacket off again, the other Slayer dropped it onto the bed. "Yeah, let's remind her about _that_."

"Or maybe I should just wait for her to say something," Buffy suggested.

"Yeah, you do that."

Buffy sighed while Faith released a weary-sounding breath of her own.

"Look, B, Willow's a smart girl – she'll figure it out."

"Figure what out? We've got nothing else, _aliens looking to study her brain _notwithstanding."

Faith regarded her with an expression that might have been indignant if she'd bothered to ditch the grin. "Hey, no one else was comin' up with jack, and little green men aren't _that_ much of a leap from the kinda shit we're used to dealing with. 'Sides, you never know, we take a gander around town, something might turn up."

"So, your solution is, ignore Willow's pain and —"

Faith's eyes turned dark. "Don't fuckin' even, B. You wanna start bangin' on about some back-from-the-grave trip she's on, go ahead, I'm not stoppin' you. But, let's not forget whose brilliant three wishes gig probably got her thinkin' about it in the first place."

"It was _one_ wish," Buffy said. "And she knows I didn't ask for Tara to come back. Plus, I already got my wish, remember? The Creature from the Nearly-Naked Lagoon? And, while we're on the subject, what exactly is it about Willow that makes you think Trashy Amazons and Skanky Dairy Queens anyway? That's not just 'outside the box' – that's practically smashing the box into tiny pieces and stomping all over it!"

Shoulders hunched, Faith scratched at the back of her head, all of a sudden looking so pathetic, Buffy almost wanted to give her a hug and a popsicle just to make things better.

"Just figured she was ... open-minded, I guess."

Buffy offered her what she hoped was a warm, peace-making smile. "Open-minded doesn't necessarily mean 'open to everyone and everything', Faith."

Faith looked at her for a moment, the hint of a tiny smile of her own shadowing her lips. "Yeah, guess not."

Buffy stood up. "We'll go see if Willow's finished cleaning up, then hit the great outdoors again?"

The other Slayer shrugged as they headed for the door, still wearing that same faint smile.

Buffy ignored it.

And the great outdoors yielded nothing.

* * *

The girl was eighteen maybe. Nineteen? Not strictly a girl then, but she could be to him, battle-scarred veteran of seven or eight apocalypses, an old man in his early twenties. Plucked from Midwestern obscurity four or five weeks ago by a pair of Kennedy's colleagues, she was part of Faith's team now, pretty and quietly-spoken with a killer left hook unhindered by large breasts that Xander was only partly surprised not to have noticed before. She came to his room, nervous and flushed, eyes jumping from the bed to the drapes to the bathroom door, back to him again, while he stood there – one shoe in hand, the other still cushioning his left foot – wondering what he might say.

_What would Buffy do?_ didn't really seem appropriate in this context. Buffy's mind wouldn't be racing ahead to other places she didn't want it to go. It wouldn't be thinking about how quiet they wouldn't have to be with the second floor's other residents away, Dawn downstairs. It wouldn't be remembering that she had no rubbers in her drawer and wondering whether to ask the girl if she was better prepared or if Buffy should simply settle for something else. It wouldn't be asking if it was what Buffy really wanted, or if she was just lonely, or if either possibility even mattered. Or if she should give the girl the speech that sex should mean something then watch her clothes pool around her ankles and listen to her talk about intercourse and interlocking bodies so she forgot all about stupid speeches.

His fingers twitched suddenly and the shoe dropped from his hand, landing on the floor with a quiet thump. He coughed, embarrassed by his clumsiness, by the sudden appearance of a tiny knot in his throat, while she crouched down and picked the article up, handing it back with a pleasant smile.

Willow, would do ... what? Kennedy had been pretty persistent, but it hadn't taken her _that_ long. For all he knew, Will could be getting friendly with any one of them. Jesus, maybe even _this_ one. Maybe the girl wanted them both ...

He ran the palm of his hand across his suddenly dry mouth. He was beginning to get a headache. Besides, if he were Willow, he probably wouldn't even realize she was hitting on him. Or maybe he would, and all he'd have to do was ignore it and let the girl follow him around until she wore him down. But, he couldn't exactly ignore her while she was standing right in front of him, could he?

Maybe Giles was a more suitable role model under the circumstance, except Giles had never really been a role model for him, the almost constant look of irritation on the older man's face preventing much in the way of male bonding. Besides, _Mr English Accent Slayers Inc. CEO_ was probably getting more trim than he could handle right now in Cleveland. Girls liked that kind of thing, didn't they?

He missed Giles.

(Missed Oz ... Riley ... Robin being around. He missed Jesse. Hell, even Larry would be nice to shoot the breeze with for a while, talk about the kinds of stuff guys were supposed to talk about: cars? girls? sports of some description? Not perfect, but Larry could at least _listen_ to the second one.)

_What would Faith do?_ Jesus, what did he think she'd do?

("I can't believe ... _she likes me/she wanted me/we shared something special_ ... I can't believe I had sex." No, wait, that didn't sound right. He'd _cared_.)

But, it turned out the girl had just come to ask him if he was okay because he'd seemed kind of down earlier that day, muttered something about how he always cheered them up when they needed it – when they missed their friends and families back home, when they weren't sure about the role they'd taken on, when someone's boyfriend broke up with her over the phone because he didn't like the person she'd become.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, shoulders sagging; relief that he hadn't gotten around to shedding his Dockers and flannel shirt before she'd knocked, that months of new routine meant he could replace his eyepatch in seconds by now.

"I'm fine ... great," he said. "But, thanks."

"Why don't you come downstairs? We're planning an all-night 'cute guys' movie marathon. You can make jokes about them, if you like."

He raised an eyebrow. "All night?"

"While the cats are away, I guess. Dawn's making popcorn." When he didn't answer straight off, she shrugged, self-conscious, a tiny smile only making her look more embarrassed. "I know it's not exactly _Girls Gone Wild_ ..."

"Hey, no, that sounds — it sounds good." Xander dropped his shoe again, deliberately this time, and wedged his foot inside. He stood up, pleased to see a more genuine smile on the girl's face. "C'mon, let's go – cute guy movies await my mockery."

As they walked down the hallway toward the stairs, she took hold of his hand, squeezing carefully, skin still soft against his own callused palm and fingers. He squeezed back.

Yeah, this was something he would do.

* * *

_Violated her. Like rape. Ugly, ugly, ugly. But, she was right. What she'd done, it was horrible, unforgivable (God, please don't let it be unforgivable). Willow hadn't been thinking straight. Fucking magic. Her own fault, always wanting more: more power, more control and, hey, how about more power and control while we're at it?_

_Well, no … more._

_Her baby deserved to know that the woman who'd done that — she needed to know that Willow loved her, didn't hate her, respected her, was sorry so sorry. Even if she never wanted to be her baby again._

_Even if it was unforgivable ..._

* * *

Willow woke with a start, blinking rapidly while she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, the unfamiliar shapes and shadows that faded into view throwing her for a moment until she remembered where she was.

In the bed next to her own, Buffy lay on her side, back turned, sleeping the sleep of the incredibly tired. Her breathing was heavy and steady.

Willow debated: About four hours to go until sunrise (no fumbling for her watch required; she knew this time of night well enough by now) – four hours of letting her imagination run away to darker places while she shivered under a meticulously arranged set of perfectly warm and comfy sheets and blankets. The thought was probably worse than the reality would be, but knowing that didn't make the prospect any less terrifying.

Her mind made up, she set both feet on the floor, closing the gap with barely a step. She kneeled on top of the other bed, the weight tilting the other woman's body toward her. As Buffy turned, one sleepy eye opened, then the other.

"Will?" Buffy sat up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I mean, I ... I just woke up and —" She clutched at the edge of the sheets. "Can I?"

Buffy's eyes darted quickly to where Willow's hand tugged at the bedclothes. A moment's hesitation, then a firm nod. "Of course you can."

Willow climbed under the covers, snuggling into an arm maybe still a little too thin, but better now that the stresses of post-deadness and pathological self-reliance were finally over; and strong – always strong – as it drew her close. She inhaled vanilla-scented shampoo, or conditioner maybe, and some kind of fruit-flavored shower gel. The Doublemeat period of estrangement aside, Buffy always smelled good.

"Do you want to talk?"

"No, it's fine ... this is good. Thanks."

Through the dark, she could make out a smile, uncertain and sad. Not just sympathy, but regret and remorse too. A small shudder jolted Willow back to the Magic Box a year or so before and how much she'd wanted to hurt the woman who'd simultaneously blessed and cursed her, setting her up for the biggest fall she'd ever taken in her life. The straw that finally broke the witch's back.

"I still miss her, Buffy. And sometimes ... sometimes I wish —" She broke off, words and half-formed notions tumbling around her head like they were coming from every conceivable alternate path that could have been taken.

All of them lies, but truthful in their way.

Her best friend/sister/rival/part-of-each-other-for-better- or-for-worse pulled her closer, smoothed a hand through her hair, and lay a soft kiss against her forehead.

"I know you do."

* * *

The creak of the floorboards was what woke her up again, just before a thin shaft of dim light from the hallway cut across the floor beside the bed. Willow rubbed at her eyes with her thumb and forefinger and turned around, just in time to catch a shadow slip from the room. Her eyes moved to the other side of the bed, where Buffy lay, still asleep.

Puzzled, Willow glanced back at the door, now shut again. Swinging her feet onto the floor, she stood up, pulled on her jeans, then her boots. With a quick look back at the other bed, she grabbed the room key from the night table, slipped it inside her back pocket, and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

A quick check in both directions solved the mystery. Faith was standing at the end of the hallway on the right, past the stairway, her back turned so she faced the small window that looked out onto the patch of ground reserved for parking.

Willow kept her voice to a whisper as she made her way down the poorly lit corridor: "Hey, is everything okay? What were you doing in our room?"

She reached the top of the stairway before she realized the other woman hadn't responded. Faith's back was still turned and the only sound was the quiet creak of Willow's own footsteps and the rain hitting the window. She tried again:

"Faith? What's going on?"

Still no response, despite the fact she was now about halfway between the stairway and the window.

"Faith, why are you ..." Willow trailed off, leaving the enquiry unfinished as a chill seized the back of her neck and spread out, so swiftly, it was as if her blood had turned to ice-water. Because it suddenly occurred to her that something wasn't quite right about the situation. Apart from the fact that Faith was standing less than ten feet away in a shadowy corner staring out into a pitch-black rainy night, ignoring her, Faith couldn't have been in their room, because Faith didn't have a key ...

The figure at the window turned then, and the cold prickle scuttled like tiny insects all across Willow's skin, while she was almost certain every short hair on her body had come to life of its own accord.

Faith was looking at her now, only not the Faith she knew. This Faith's eyes were sunken, almost hollow, while near-translucent skin stretched across bones at once familiar and strange; and something about the way she was slouched – crooked, beast-like – made it seem as though she'd crawled from the shadows that shrouded the corner. But, worst of all was the mouth – opened slightly, lips pale and cracked, turned up in a grotesque, feral grin that promised nothing but malevolence and terror. Willow stared, mesmerized, her mind unable to formulate any semblance of logical thought; just that, not only was something not right, something was, in fact, very terribly wrong.

_What to do what to do what to do ..._

The voice was low and raspy: "Hi, cutie."

And the figure stepped toward her.

Just a small step along the thin carpet that maybe Willow had imagined. Or maybe she'd moved herself, except she wasn't sure if her legs could actually function at this moment. _This is not good this is bad worse than bad like a nightma—_

Another soft creak and Willow swallowed, the sound filling her ears loud as a crack of thunder. Okay, that was _definitely_ a move forward. Her own foot twitched and she took a faltering step back, hating herself for it. _Stand your ground you're a badass Wiccan and this is just what happens when you eat too much cheese or don't say your prayers even if you don't really have to or make yourself step on sidewalk cracks and walk under ladders it's a demon no not a demon it's Faith for god's sake ..._

Willow took another step away and turned, her mind churning with instructions, directions: _Don't panic don't panic you're a witch and she's sort of your friend she's a monster you're just imagining it this is not happening ..._

She started back down the hallway toward the room she'd left only moments earlier, only aware she'd quickened her pace when she heard the figure behind her step up a gear too.

Reaching the door, Willow fumbled through her pockets for the key card – _oh god oh god oh god not that one moron the back the back_ – careful not to drop it as she pulled it free. She slammed it into the lock, yanked it out again and ... the tiny light blinked red. Thumping on the door, she willed herself to take a breath, to ignore the creaking floorboards in the hallway that were getting louder, closer. _It's just a stupid lock open it with magic idio—_

The door swung open suddenly and she stumbled into the room, closing it quickly behind her.

She blinked at the Slayer in front of her as the overhead light came on.

Well, that explained the stupid, crappy key.

* * *

_She should have brought flowers. That's what you did when you were apologizing to someone after treating them – her – so thoughtlessly._

_Jeez, what was she thinking? It wasn't like they were — no, not like that. Ha!_

_She'd wanted to spend time with her, but it hadn't felt right to share. To mix it up. That's all._

_Willow took a breath, knocked on the door._

_Why were her palms so sweaty all of a sudden?_

_And why did it feel like her heart was about to land at her feet?_

_The door opened and the other woman smiled._

_Oh, yeah. That._

* * *

Faith eyed the woman who'd just thrown herself across the threshold and was now gaping back at her, wide-eyed and pink-faced, dressed in a grubbier version of that night's earlier boots and jeans along with a crushed-looking nightshirt.

"Okay, either you've come to tell me the hotel's on fire or else I'm channeling some horny lesbian teenager's loser-dream ..." Faith frowned as Willow fell back against the door, panting out a series of shallow, shaky breaths. "What's goin' on? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. No. Kinda not. Something weird just happened."

"Right, we're definitely gettin' tee-shirts made ..."

"_Sshh_, wait." Willow put her ear to the door for a moment, then turned to address Faith again. "It was you. Or not you. I don't _think_ it was you. I think it was me."

"Okay, granted I never really put the time in, but I'm pretty _no one_ coulda followed that train of thought."

"Sorry. I mean, you were in our room, and then you were in the hallway, but it wasn't you, it was a ... another version of you and I think I accidentally conjured it." Willow squinted at her. "Were you awake?"

"Not until about two seconds ago."

"How come?"

"Uh, some crazy chick was bangin' on the door." Faith frowned. "You conjured a _version_ of me?"

"Um, yeah. I didn't mean to. I ... sometimes I do things without realizing."

Faith studied Willow, who was now looking more than just a touch guilty over _something_, and Faith wasn't altogether sure it was the 'accidental conjuring' alone, however the fuck that worked. Maybe something like 'accidental murder' when you had a stake in your hand and were too busy living it large to pay attention to what or who was ready to meet it at the other end. She rubbed at her temples. Christ, way to bum herself out at three o'clock in the morning.

"Are _you_ okay?" Willow was peering at her.

"Yeah, sure." With a tilt of her head, Faith motioned over the redhead's shoulder toward the door. "Want me to check it out?"

"We probably should. Just gimme a minute."

"Yeah, still look kinda shook up. You want a drink?"

"Um, yeah, some water if you've got it, thanks."

"Water. Right." Faith gestured to the bottle on the night table. "Tennessee flavor or tap?"

"What? Oh. Never mind, but can I sit down for a minute? My legs feel like they've been doing jello shots."

"Help yourself." Faith motioned to the other, unused bed. "Just lemme get some pants on ..." She grabbed her jeans from the back of a nearby chair and started to pull them on, pausing as she caught an anxious curve appear on the other woman's mouth. "Hey, it's not 'cause you're ... I mean, to each their own, right?"

The resulting blush could have guided Santa's sleigh. "Oh, I didn't think ... you know, what you think I was thinking."

Faith grinned as she pulled the denim over her hips and fastened the opening. "Gimme more to worry about you _didn't_ take a look."

"I wasn't doing that either," said Willow with a scowl, face now practically on red alert. "I mean, full of yourself much? Why do you do —"

The Slayer chuckled. "Relax. Yankin' your chain, that's all. So, what were you doin' conjuring stuff this late anyhow?"

A faint smile appeared. "I wasn't conjuring. I was sleeping."

"Wow. Guess you weren't kiddin' about the accidental. So, why me?"

Willow's gaze switched to the bottle on the night table, focusing on the dark, amber liquid like it was something she was examining in a science lab. Finally, she looked at Faith again and took a deep breath, letting it out again with an audible puff before flashing another, quicker smile.

"No idea."

_Liar_, Faith thought, but she decided not to pursue it. Judging from the guilty looks Willow had been giving her since her breathless arrival two minutes before, most likely it involved some kind of wet dream gone wrong _(Dear Goddess Almighty of the Land of Wicca-ness, please send me a hot Slayer chick for the night 'cause I'm feeling a bit crappy – oh, but, Jesus, not _that_ one!) _and Faith wasn't sure if now was the best time for a bigger, brighter round of Tease-the-Redhead.

Willow stood up again, motioning to the door. "You know, maybe we should go check it out now?"

Faith grinned as she reached for her boots. "Cool."

* * *

"Why Faith?" Buffy whispered. "I mean, you couldn't have conjured Brad Pitt?"

Willow looked at her as they reached the top of the stairs to the fourth floor. "Why would I conjure Brad Pitt?"

"Why would you conjure another Faith?"

"I told you, I don't know. Anyway, trust me, you wouldn't have liked this Brad Pitt."

Buffy grimaced. "Was he a girl Brad Pitt?"

She found herself on the receiving end of an impatient frown.

"You're really not awake yet, are you?"

Buffy stifled a yawn. "I'm trying to be, Will. But, it's three-thirty in the not-morning and ... and how come I get bed-hair and Faith doesn't? Hey, did she brush her hair before you guys woke me up?"

"Buffy, can we just focus on the other-Faith issue for now?"

The Slayer rubbed at her eyes as they crept along the hallway. "Okay, wide-awake girl right here. But, can we check the kitchen next? My tummy's got the munchies."

"I think Faith's checking it out," Willow said with an apologetic smile. "But, if it's any consolation, when she goes outside after, her hair's probably gonna get wet."

Only partly satisfied – wet hair wasn't _necessarily_ worse than bed-hair – Buffy nevertheless let it go with a shrug and they carried on down the hallway, stopping to listen at each guest room door along the way. When they reached the end, they peered round the corner into the little alcove where a vacuum cleaner and cart stood.

"Okay," Buffy said. "I think this floor's clea—"

Willow grabbed her shoulder. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

Silence for a moment, then suddenly a muffled _clunk_ sounded from the other end of the hallway.

"_That_," said Willow.

The Slayer listened: another soft _clunk_, then a humming noise. She sucked in a breath. "The elevator?"

Willow's eyes widened. "You think maybe ..."

"Can it punch buttons?"

"It shouldn't have been corporeal, but, I definitely remember fingers _and_ solidness."

They started back down the hallway and stopped outside the elevator, watching the numbers above the doors switch from '3' to '4' before the humming noise came to a shuddering halt.

The doors groaned open.

"Buffy ..."

The Slayer lunged at the figure inside the elevator, landing a blow on its jaw, causing it to stumble back and fall against the rail at the rear of the carriage.

"... that's the real Faith," Willow finished weakly.

"How do you know?" Buffy raised her fist, ready to strike again.

"Jesus, B, what's your fuckin' damage?"

"Oh, just a feelin'," said Willow.

Lowering her fist again, Buffy shrugged awkwardly. "But, you said she'd have wet hair and look – hair dry."

Willow frowned at Faith. "Why's your hair dry?"

"Huh?" Faith was rubbing at her jaw.

"You're supposed to be outside by now," Buffy said. "Why are you in the elevator?"

"Figured I could check it out while I was lookin' for you. Here, gimme a leg up." The other Slayer gestured to the hatch on the ceiling.

"You think it's up there?"

Faith shrugged. "Seen enough movies where they don't check the shaft, then it turns out that's where the really creepy shit's going on."

"That's true," said Buffy. "Just … be careful."

While Willow reached inside to hold the doors open, Buffy hooked her fingers together, wincing as a dirty-looking boot landed in her cradled hands. She boosted her counterpart toward the ceiling, where Faith pushed the panel open, the upper half of her body disappearing as she hoisted herself part-way through the square hole.

"What did you mean, it shouldn't have been corporeal?" Buffy held onto Faith's ankles as the other Slayer stepped onto her shoulders.

"Huh?" Willow was gazing absently up at the opening in the ceiling.

"You said the other Faith _shouldn't_ have been corporeal."

Willow looked at her. "Yeah, 'cause — I just meant I wouldn't have expected something like that to be all ... touchable."

Flinching as Faith's right foot shifted, Buffy looked up. "Are you done yet?"

"Yeah, nothin' up here."

"How about we hit the basement next, then outside?" Buffy suggested as she lowered Faith to the floor.

Willow stepped inside the carriage and pushed the appropriate button, frowning thoughtfully as the doors shut and the elevator began its slow, rumbling descent.

"Why were you looking for us anyway?" she asked Faith.

The other Slayer hesitated, shooting a quick glance at Buffy, before responding: "Chick downstairs in the kitchen, getting ready for the breakfast shift. Said she heard some girl at the desk yesterday afternoon askin' about you. Told the clerk to keep it quiet too."

"Someone was asking about me?" Willow said. "A female someone? Do we know ... what did she look like? Did you ask?"

Another short pause, then a shrug. "About our age, long hair. Wasn't exactly sure about the color – light's not too good in the lobby, especially with the rain outside and all. Maybe blonde … a little darker … dark. Coulda been dark."

Buffy glanced at Faith, then turned her attention to Willow, saw the lower-lip tremble beginning to take form. But, the not-so-logical conclusion her best friend was obviously jumping to _really_ didn't make sense.

Willow's eyes had grown almost saucer-sized. "Did she say where she's —"

"Left an address, some motel just a couple miles away. Thought maybe we could check it out once the sun's up." Slipping her hand into the pocket of her jeans, Faith produced a yellow Post-It note and handed it to Willow, just as the elevator came to a stop and the doors began to open.

Buffy had only enough time to see the pale, unearthly figure standing right outside the carriage, dark, hollow eyes staring in at them, before she was subjected to a definitely weird, but not entirely unthrilling sight:

Faith headbutting herself.

* * *

**Tuesday**

_People who could save themselves with yellow no. 2 pencils didn't get scared._

_She wasn't _just_ supposed to read books and pass tests or be quiet and nice and not make trouble. She ate trouble for breakfast. As well as danger._

_She was supposed to fight evil, and evil was standing right there._

_But, since she couldn't stake her (not a vampire) and fisticuffs were out (unarmed combat? Not so much), a few home truths would have to do._

_That punch might have been really sore and that knife looked pretty sharp, but her words had cut a lot deeper._

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay?" Willow asked as they made their way across the forecourt of the motel.

"Can't say I ever kicked my own ass before, but, I'll deal." Faith winced as she touched her lip, before replacing the expression with a careful grin. "Besides, not every day I get to throw down with a hot Slayer like that."

"Gee, Faith, is that your way of asking me to spar with you more often?" Buffy rolled up the empty wrapper from the box of donuts they'd managed to snag from the breakfast chef and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. "I'm flattered, really, but, it probably wouldn't be fair to monopolize my time like that."

"No, B, I'm talkin' _super_-hot. Way outta your range ..."

Willow listened as they headed toward the stairs leading to the second level. They were trying to distract her, to keep things light, to make sure she didn't go into some sort of hysterical seizure. But, it was hard to play along, and not just because jokes weren't quite enough to divert her from the reason they were here. Willow cast a sidelong glance at Faith as they reached the bottom of the stairway, her stomach lurching at the sight of the Slayer's swollen lip, the bruised cheekbone, the yellow-grey hue of the skin around her eye. One day Willow might be able to look back on it as just some big ol' fun adventure, but, right now 'laugh riot' wasn't quite doing it for her.

Ever since they left the hotel, she'd been plagued by images of the other Faith straddling the Slayer on the cold, hard basement floor, reining blows down on her like a punishment for whatever it was inside that had allowed her to be turned into _this_, while Willow and Buffy hurriedly organized the spell to get rid of it. And, worse, how Faith had almost seemed to _accept_ the beating, absorbing each blow with a sickly sneer twisting her mouth, as if fighting back anymore just wasn't worth it. Finally, Buffy had grabbed the other Faith in a chokehold and dragged her off of the Slayer, the real Faith had risen unsteadily to her feet, and the two of them had held onto the doppelganger by each arm, keeping her still while Willow – _deep breaths, deep breaths_ – delivered a _recedo_ spell and a handful of freshly-mixed purifying dust, transforming Faith's Other back into the speck of non-existence she'd once been.

They reached the top of the stairs and made their way along the walkway to the room number scrawled on the Post-It.

When they stopped outside, Buffy looked at Willow, offering a small, supportive smile. "Ready?"

Willow nodded and Buffy knocked on the door.

* * *

No answer, but Faith could hear someone moving around inside the room.

She looked at Buffy, who shrugged back, then at Willow, who was staring at the door, mouth open slightly, her breathing ragged and shallow, like she was gonna start hyperventilating any second. All because of B's stupid wish and a bunch of rocks in the dirt.

Except now that there was just two inches of cheap wood between them and the potential rock-arranger, Faith was beginning to wonder herself. Freakier things had happened – Buffy's temporary trip six feet under was testament to that, she supposed – but, she really didn't want to be the one to suggest that, while Willow probably _was_ nuts, there was also an ever-so-slight chance that maybe she wasn't.

Buffy knocked again and, like before, there was no answer.

"You realize we don't _have_ to stand out here waiting for … someone to answer, right?" Faith reminded them, reaching for the handle.

"Wait, I can open it without damaging the lock," said Willow. "We don't wanna cause unnecessary breakage or anything."

Faith took her hand away with a shrug. "Go ahead."

Willow paused, then, taking a breath, passed her hand over the metal door knob.

Hearing the lock slide back with a soft click, Faith glanced quickly at the other two, then pushed the door open.

The woman inside the room turned to look at them from where she stood stuffing clothes into an open suitcase lying on top of the bed. She blinked and, for a second, froze. Then, apparently deciding that panic wasn't the impression she wanted to make, she straightened up and held her hands out toward them, an orangey glow rising up around her as her eyes started to roll back in her head.

Without saying a word, Buffy closed the distance in about three steps and landed a right hook on the woman's jaw, so quick and hard, Faith reckoned she was probably out cold before she even hit the floor.

"Thanks, Buff," said Willow.

"No problem. Can you … neutralize her or something?"

"Yeah, good idea." Willow walked across the room and gazed down at the unconscious woman, while Buffy put a hand on the redhead's arm, squeezing lightly.

"Are you okay?"

Willow nodded, a little too quickly, Faith thought. But, the tears that had been threatening a downpour all morning stayed put.

Buffy looked up. "Faith, can you fetch the ropes from the trunk?" At Willow's questioning glance, she shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

"Yeah, you're right," said the redhead. "We should probably tie her to a chair _before_ I do the spe —"

"Hey!"

Buffy and Willow looked at Faith.

"Sorry to rain on your big bondage plans and all, but you gonna tell me who the hell this is?"


	12. Eight: Can't You Hear Me Knocking, Pt 3

**AN: **Thanks very much to everyone who's taken the time to read, review, follow and/or favorite so far. For anyone wondering where the 'romance' is, I wasn't kidding about the slow burn, but it _will_ turn up (W/F is my OTP, but they have a lot of issues to sort through); for anyone who finds Chapter Eight a tad unusual/disjointed/WTF-is-going-on-here?-ish, the narrative structure/style is deliberate, but certainly not intended to cause undue confusion - all I can really advise is, enjoy the trip!

* * *

**Eight: Can't You Hear Me Knocking, Pt. 3**

Buffy looked at Willow. "Should we bring her round? She's all magic-free now, isn't she?"

Willow was studying the other witch, bound upright to the ladderback chair in the middle of the room. Taking a breath, the redhead muttered a few words in what Faith assumed was Latin, and Amy Madison's head jerked upward, eyes snapping open like someone just stuck her with a cattle prod. Blinking a few times, she glanced from side to side for a moment before looking up at the three women standing in front of her.

"Nice nap?" Faith asked.

"I've had better," said Amy. She tilted her head and a smirk appeared. "I know you … you're Faith, right? The _other_ Slayer? We never really got to know each other back in the old days, but I've heard some interesting things since." She turned to Willow. "So, either your power's shrunk to the point where you need brute force to get things done, or you're such a big shot now, you get two big shot Slayers to watch your back. Hmm, which is it? I wonder …"

"Well, it's not the first one, dipshit," said Faith. "The fact you couldn't float a fuckin' doily right now should tell you something."

Amy raised an eyebrow, her eyes still on Willow. "And they talk for you too. I guess it _must _be the second one."

"Be quiet," snapped Willow. "You should be grateful Buffy knocked you out. You don't wanna know what I would've done."

"Well, so far, aiding and abetting an assault, holding me here against my will ... I wonder what kind of jail-time a person —"

"Yeah, we were wondering what kinda time someone might get for that yucky stuff you've got stashed in your suitcase," Buffy said. "Willow says some of it's not totally legal. And can I just say, the African bullfrog thingy? That's just gross."

Amy Madison narrowed her eyes, looked like she was about to say something smart in reply, then seemed to reconsider and said instead, "Why are you here?"

"That's kinda what we want to know," said Willow. "I mean, we know why we're _here, _in this room, 'cause we wanna know why you're here. You know, where we are? But, we wanna know _why_ you're here. So … that's why we're here."

Faith sighed quietly and took a cigarette from the pack in her pocket. Lighting up, she took a long drag.

Amy smirked again. "Isn't this a non-smoking —"

"Boo fuckin' hoo." Faith exhaled a thin stream of smoke past Amy's ear.

Willow cleared her throat, focusing on the other witch again. "And not that I'm not pleased to see you after last time ..."

Amy flinched at that. "Listen, I had no idea what was going to —"

"And you didn't care when you _did_ know," Willow said tightly.

Faith glanced down, saw Willow's hand clenched rigidly into a white-knuckled fist held stiffly at her side. Buffy was looking too, probably wondering if they were gonna have to turn it into a round of good cop/bad cop/other-indifferent-sort-of-cop.

"Look," Buffy said, "we just wanna know why you're here."

"I heard there was a pretty impressive Wicca group in the area, that's all." Amy gave them an innocent wide-eyed look, the kind of look practically designed to piss Faith off, like she thought they were stupid or something.

She kicked one of the legs of the chair and Amy turned her gaze toward her.

"No, really ... you know, fresh start."

"Don't fuck with us," Faith snarled.

"Oh, my!" Amy gave a small, startled laugh. She cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowed. "Say, is it true you're pretty much a total psychopath? Is this a good day for you?"

"Ignore her, Faith," said Buffy with a sigh. "And, Amy, since you're not exactly the sanest sandwich in the picnic basket, the name-calling really isn't cool."

"Did you leave a message for us … me … at the crater?" Willow asked.

The other witch looked at her. "What kind of message?" Her mouth dropped open. "It's not your birthday is it?"

"And why were you asking about Willow at the hotel?" said Buffy.

Amy gazed back at her for a moment, then slowly turned away to face the wall opposite, once again wearing one of those really fucking annoying smirks.

"What, are we done talking?" said Buffy, raising her eyebrows.

"God, I hope so," said Faith.

Amy looked at Buffy again. "If this spell's the one I'm thinking of, it's gonna wear off in, what, about an hour? So, I think I'm just gonna wait."

Buffy looked at Willow, who nodded slightly, with an apologetic curl of her lip thrown in for good measure.

Faith studied the witch, hands tied behind the back of the chair, feet bound to the front legs, the so far unused gag they'd torn from a towel in the bathroom hanging loose around her neck, while a faint bruise was beginning to rise below the corner of her lip. Funny the kinds of things that were familiar to her by now, mostly thanks to her own fucked up sense of unfairness and injustice.

But, that was part of the punishment, wasn't it? Where a girl tied to a chair in a shitty motel room wasn't the worst thing she'd ever participated in. Not even close. Still, one of the warped benefits of those kinds of memories was that she'd always have some past form to draw on. And, right now, those memories were giving her a really bad idea.

* * *

"Fifteen minutes, that's all I need." Letting the butt of her cigarette drop to the parking lot below, Faith leaned back against the rail of the balcony, glancing through the narrow gap created by the door left slightly open, into the room where Amy was still tied up and saying nothing.

Buffy looked at the other Slayer from where she stood next to the doorway. "I don't know …"

"Well, she's not gonna talk without at least a _little_ incentive."

"Incentive? What does that mean?"

"Means makin' her talk."

Willow frowned. "You're not gonna do anything … horrible, are you?"

"Fine, here, take the knife." Faith pulled an eight-inch hunting knife from the inside of her coat and handed to Buffy. "Happy?"

The other Slayer sighed loudly. "Okay, fine. Go talk to her. But, Faith, if you do anything …"

"Just fifteen minutes alone. Swear I won't touch a hair on the bitch's head."

Buffy and Willow stepped away from the doorway and Faith entered the room, closing the door behind her. It was only when she turned the bolt and snapped the security bar into place that Amy chose to acknowledge her. She tilted her head, eyebrow raised.

"Is this the part where I get oh-so scared and tell you everything?"

Faith nodded as she crossed the room. "Pretty much, yeah." She stood in front of the chair, hands tucked inside the pockets of her jeans, and looked down at the other woman with a smile. "You a murderer, Amy?"

"No, you'd have to talk to Willow about —"

"See, I am. You know that, right? But, the difference between Willow and me? I don't have to know who's on the end of my 'anger management issues' or 'cycle of whatever-the-fuck-you-wanna-call-it'. Don't get me wrong, helps if I've got a name, _Amy_, but I don't have to see my one and only spilled on the floor or swap sticky magic fluids with some loser who had to give _himself_ a cool new handle …"

Amy looked up.

"C'mon, _Rack?_ You know that dude was a Norman or Eugene, right?"

"I've no idea what his —"

"No, difference is, Willow likes to have a reason – which, by the way, in my opinion, you pretty much fit the bill after what you did to her last time around. Me? Just gotta gimme a sharp object and point me somewhere I can stick it."

"Too bad you gave Buffy your knife. I heard."

Moving to the bed, Faith propped her right foot on the corner post and pulled the leg of her pants up, drawing a five-inch switchblade from where it was tucked inside her boot. Standing up straight again, she touched the trigger with her thumb and the blade sprang upright with a satisfying _click_. Faith looked at the witch.

"Hey, look, a spare."

Amy's eyes widened. "You swore you wouldn't touch a hair on my head."

Faith crossed the room and, crouching down, rested her free hand on Amy's thigh, letting her fingers brush along the hem of the witch's short skirt. She leaned close until her lips were just a fraction away from the other woman's ear. "That still leaves plenty _other_ places, Amy."

The witch's eyes, even wider now, darted to the locked and bolted motel room door.

"Oh, and if you're a screamer?" Faith tugged the gag up over the witch's mouth, smiled at the muffled whimper she heard from behind the strip of bathroom towel. "Well, too bad."

* * *

"I really don't like this, Willow." Buffy paced the walkway, trying not to look nervous, the effort no doubt diminished somewhat by, well, the visible pacing activity she was currently undertaking.

"I don't like it either, Buffy, but what else are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know." The Slayer stopped, eyeing the door of the motel room warily. "It's just, Faith plus fun-with-knives? Not usually of the good."

"She uses them all the time," Willow reminded her, then added quickly, "You know, not that she's going to use _that_ one. It's just ... pretendy stuff."

"But, you know, the whole torture thing ..." Buffy trailed off with an apologetic wince, while the other woman shrugged awkwardly.

"Pretendy torture," Willow said quietly.

Buffy breathed a silent sigh. The brilliant plan. Let the psycho loose on ... the other psycho; let her reputation do the work. With the help of a prop, of course. But, Faith was different now, wasn't she? Faith cared about fighting evil and about other people; Faith had a nice ex-sort-of-boyfriend in Cleveland; Faith liked to play touch football on Saturday afternoons with girls who looked up to her; Faith always remembered to put a newspaper on the kitchen counter when she cleaned her boots; Faith liked to goad Buffy and see her squirm and ... okay, some things weren't so different.

Still, Buffy couldn't help thinking she should have put up more of a protest, tried to figure out another approach when Faith came up with the idea of an all-too-real role-playing game, delivering her pitch in a low voice a few doors down from Amy's room, before they'd let the witch hear what they'd wanted her to hear. But, Buffy had agreed to it, however reluctantly, because ...

Because she was pissed off enough to let her do it. Pissed off when she looked at Willow and remembered how frail and vulnerable she'd seemed while she'd slept in Buffy's arms, pissed off because it hurt to have Tara used like that and she missed Tara. She was tired of fighting with Faith in new and exciting places, of grouchy, asshole Wiccan guys, of creepy doubles, of hanging around the biggest graveyard in Southern California like the vacation from hell. She just wanted the other Slayer to do her thing so they could get out of there, go home, and leave the weird little cattle-happy vamps to catch some undead strain of mad cow disease.

With a louder sigh this time, Buffy leaned forward and pressed her ear to the door. "I can't hear anything. That's gotta be … good, maybe?"

* * *

Crouched down in front of the chair, elbows resting on her knees, Faith tapped the open switchblade quietly and slowly against the seat between the witch's thighs. Steady like a clock, like the water she could hear dripping from the faucet in the bathroom. She pictured the basin, off-white with age and ground-in dirt, scarred with spidery cracks, and the water snaking its way toward the drain, leaving a pale trail behind it until the next drop hit. The rest of the place wasn't exactly a palace either. Fucking dump. The kind of digs she was way too familiar with. Fit mostly for a rat, former or otherwise.

Faith brought the tapping to a sudden stop and stood up, holding the knife loosely between her thumb and fingers, letting it swing casually back and forth like a pendulum.

"You know, before I get started," she said, "I think we should have a talk. And by that, I mean I'm gonna talk and you're gonna … well … have to listen."

A frown formed around the gag in Amy's mouth.

Faith smiled. "See, you might not know me too well, Amy, but, I got a pretty good handle on you. You know, your big mad-on for the redhead?"

Amy looked up at her, eyes sullen but uneasy.

"Yeah, kinda hard to watch someone get everything you want, everyone falling over themselves to kiss her ass while all you get's left behind with a bad rep. But, here's the thing: I know what happens when you get what you want. See, I'm pretty sure Willow wouldn't mind swapping skins a day or two. Willow gets inside you, you get to be Willow. And you know what that means?"

The witch stared at her for a moment, then shook her head.

"Said it yourself: you get to be a murderer. You get a bunch of newbies lookin' at you like they don't know whether to give you a hug or hide when they see you comin'. Means you get to wake up in the morning not knowing if you can make it through the day without snapping the neck of some little asswipe who cuts you off in the grocery store parking lot. You get Buffy Summers worryin' about what might happen if she ever has to throw down with you again. Plus, _you_ get the very special bonus of a dead girlfriend and some bitch who just can't leave it alone. _That's_ the chick you're so hot for."

Amy blinked and looked away and Faith sighed, crouching down again in front of the chair. Reaching out, she grabbed hold of the witch's chin, putting a little more pressure than strictly necessary on the emerging bruise, and turned the other woman's head around until she was facing her again.

"Amy, don't look away. Not when I've got a confession to make." Faith pressed the tip of the blade against the other woman's thigh, her eyes flicking toward the door. She kept her voice low. "They know about this knife."

Amy's eyes darted to the door, then back again.

"Yeah, supposed to be a bluff so's I can pull the Psycho Slayer act. You know, _big, bad Faith goin' off the rails again_? Sure, they're standing out there telling themselves they trust me, but, fact is, Buffy Holier-Than-Thou Summers and Glinda the Born-Again sent the murderer with mental health issues in here with a knife. And you know why?"

Amy shook her head as Faith leaned back a little, letting the switchblade push down into the witch's flesh, turning the skin white around the blade. A tremor ran along the length of the weapon; she could feel it vibrate against the palm of her hand. The other woman's knee was shaking.

"'Cause they think you're using Tara to mess with Willow again and that's kinda upsetting for her. So, far as the Chosen One's concerned, all bets are off."

Amy blinked and Faith smiled.

"Yeah, had to piece some of it together from before my time, but, truth is, Buffy'll do anything for that girl. Want your honey to send you to hell? Put Willow in a coma. Get your box of spiders back so's you can turn Sunnydale into an all-you-can-eat? Trade it for the redhead. I mean, here's a chick who destroyed a Hell God and put the First Evil in a coma, but she couldn't take down a pissed-off witch? Look at this, for Christsake – we coulda pulled the same stunt with Willow herself, but B doesn't wanna lose her to the 'dark side' again, doesn't wanna put temptation in her way. Doesn't much care if _I_ take a trip back to Psychoville, but Willow's too important to her."

The tremor seemed to get stronger then and Faith looked down, saw her own hand trembling, almost shaking. She snatched the knife away, barely glancing at the mark she'd left on the witch's skin as she rose to her feet, moved away from the chair, and turned around.

Catching her reflection in the dark grey of the blank television screen, she saw the light pushing through the closed window drapes cast one half of her in shadow, the other half pale and ghostly. Cartoon evil, Jekyll and Hyde bullshit_._ She touched the recently acquired welt on her lip, courtesy of her very own demon, created from a power so overwhelming it had, according to its owner, come from nothing more than a thought she couldn't even remember having while she'd slept. Sucking in a deep breath, Faith felt the tremors begin to subside, and turned back. Reaching out, she tugged the gag down.

"Bottom line is, you fuck with Willow, you fuck with Buffy. That's how it works. So, you can scream all you want, Amy. I'm willin' to bet the Cavalry's not comin'."

Amy choked out a strangled cough. "Why are you telling me this?"

"'Cause I want you to be clear about why I don't mind doin' the dirty work. I mean, I like Willow okay. We've been getting along pretty well since I got back, but, that's a sidenote."

"You still don't have to do whatever they —"

"Didn't let me finish, Amy. Reason I _offered_ to do it is 'cause you and I know that one of these days, no matter how much B doesn't want it to happen, Willow's gonna go off the deep end again. I don't know ... maybe she'll meet some other cute chick with a killer smile and a nice rack and everything'll be just rosy; and then, one day, it all comes crashing down. Willow's gonna lose it again, only this time with a fuckload more firepower. And when _that_ happens, I know whose side I wanna be on."

Faith sat back against the TV cabinet, ran her thumb along the flat of the blade. She smiled.

"So, right now, I'm on the _Yay for the Redhead_ team and if that means inflicting a little pain just so's Willow can deal with some issues, I'll do it, 'cause I want her to remember that _I_ was there for her. Hell, I'll let Willow ride me like a broomstick if it means, come Judgment Day, I get to play sidekick instead of gettin' my ass handed to me."

Crossing the room, Faith pulled out another chair, dropped it on the floor by the side of the witch, and straddled it. She swept Amy's hair from her shoulder and let the tip of the blade slide slowly down the side of the other woman's face.

"So, we ready to talk, or d'you want me to prove just how far I'm willin' to go for my seat at the Wiccan's right hand?"

Amy swallowed. "Okay, fine, I'll tell —"

And a sudden buzzing noise cut her off.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Faith dug into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Flipping it open, she glanced quickly at the display before holding the phone to her ear, listening to the quiet voice at the other end, urgency and worry cutting through the apologetic tone.

She closed the phone over again, crossed the room and unlocked the door.

"Did you get anything?" Buffy asked. Faith stepped aside as the two women looked past her into the room.

"Got a call just when she was about to spill. We gotta get out of here."

"What's up?" Willow asked.

"Something that really kinda sucks."

"So, am I free to go?" Amy asked behind her.

Faith returned to the chair and began to undo the binds. "Not finished with you yet," she said. "You're comin' with us."

The moment Amy's hands and feet were free, she stood up and jabbed a finger at Faith, almost close enough so the Slayer could have bitten it off. "You can't trust her. She told me you knew about the knife and about how she'd do anything to —"

"Shut the hell up," Faith snapped.

"You told her about the knife?" Buffy blinked.

"Look, we don't have time to deal with this right now." Faith grabbed hold of Amy's arm. "And, yeah, nice to know you've still got a little bit of rat left in you."

* * *

**Some Girls #4**

Cutting herself; it had seemed like such a cliché, even at the time. It hadn't helped her feel any more in control either, or feel anything much at all. The pain didn't bring her relief, because numbness wasn't her problem. She _prayed_ for numbness.

But, it had almost been worth it just to see the disgust and disappointment on his face as he'd studied each of the cuts in turn – like, how could she do this to _him?_

When she left, the cutting stopped and the wounds on her arm turned into pink scabs and scars she covered with long, loose sleeves. Sleeves she forgot to roll down one afternoon when Faith showed up at her room in the Super-8 laden with convenience store snacks and news from Giles about some guy in England he'd contacted that morning.

"Somethin' you want to tell me?"

So, she'd told her. Sitting cross-legged on top of a lumpy mattress while a grape-flavored slushy melted inside the cup in her hand. Amazing how still Faith had stood while she'd listened, fingers wedged inside the pockets of her jeans, head tilted slightly, lower lip turned out. Not knowing what to say to her about a different kind of monster, the kind like that song her brother used to play in the car, keeping time on the steering wheel with the flat of his hands while he mouthed the words silently to himself:

_The mugger, the rapist, the arsenic lover,_

_All smile out from the news, at one time or another,_

_Those smiles, those garish sickly smiles ..._

* * *

Willow pulled up alongside Caridad's car at the front of the apartment building and they got out.

"You _knew_ about this?" said Buffy. "Why didn't you say something?"

Faith slammed the car door shut. "Promised I wouldn't."

"What, so you're integrity-girl all of a sudden?"

Willow visibly flinched. "Buffy ..."

"Okay, sorry." Buffy sighed as they made their way along the footpath to the building's front door. "But, we could have gotten her some help."

"You mean some touchy-feely Council shrink sits her down and tells her it wasn't her fault?" Faith said. "Believe it or not, think she already got the memo about that."

"We could have gone to the cops."

"C'mon, you gotta know the rules, B. One lousy screw and it's open season. Think maybe she was dressed 'wrong' too or, you know, she was breathing or whatever. Girl's been through the fuckin' wringer. Figured she was safe now."

Buffy nodded, whether in agreement or not about the total shittiness of the situation, Faith wasn't sure. "Okay, I understand, but, first thing, we've gotta stop her doing something she's gonna regret."

"Well, if you ask me," said Amy, "I wouldn't blame her if she did do something and didn't regret it at all."

"Good thing no one's askin' you then," said Faith.

Amy raised an eyebrow. "You know, you really should pick one theme and stick with it. _I like torturing perfectly innocent people ... I hate bad guys ... I wouldn't want to see some creepy little —_"

"Listen, Rizzo, you and I've still got some quality time left to make up. So, if I was you, I'd pipe the fuck down." They reached the front door. "Where the hell's Caridad? Said she was gonna wait for us outside. Oh, Christ, if she's not here …"

Inside the building, they made their way upstairs quickly to the unlocked apartment door and went inside.

The body lay face-down in the middle of the floor, blood seeping out from underneath, like the stupid fuck had fallen face-first into a puddle of jelly.

Amy pursed her lips. "Looks like the cavalry didn't quite get here on —"

"Shut the fuck up!" Faith barked. As she moved closer to the body she glanced at Buffy, saw her bottom lip tremble, fingers raking unsteadily through her hair – another fucking nightmare dropped at her feet to deal with. Meanwhile, Willow was looking on with what might have seemed to the casual observer like some kind of expressionless shock on her face – mouth stuck in the default setting, corners sagging ever so slightly downward, dark eyes staring blankly, the secret hiding place for thoughts she didn't want to give away betrayed only by the tiny spark pushing its way through.

Finally, Faith looked at the figure hunched forward on the couch, blonde hair spiky with sweat, hands trembling, breathing a mix of quiet wheezes and jagged gasps, sucked and exhaled through a pair of pale, dry lips.

"I thought it was okay to leave them alone if he was here," said Caridad. "Then, when I came back to check ..."

Buffy was staring at the bloody knife in the boy's hand. "You did this?"

The girl's brother looked up, eyes red and tired with pain and fear and worry and, finally now, relief. He glanced at his sister, crying quietly by the window, Caridad standing next to her with an arm wrapped around her shoulders. He shrugged and looked back at the Chosen One, spoke in a quiet, watery choke:

"I couldn't let_ her_ do it. She's one of the good guys."

* * *

The three of them stood in the bedroom with the door leading into the living room left ajar – an emergency meeting for want of a better phrase in a location that could probably have been better too. But, the illusion of privacy would have to suffice; despite Willow's instructions to Caridad to keep an eye on Amy and alert them should anything 'weird' happen, a closed door was a barrier she wasn't keen on putting between herself and Amy's potential to cause trouble.

"We can't ask him to turn himself in, Buffy."

Buffy looked at her and it was only then Willow realized she was the one who'd spoken. She hadn't meant to, not for want of anything to say, but for fear of saying too much too quickly. Of sounding panicked and rushed when, in reality, she'd already considered the matter, if not quite from every angle, from enough sides to count as _reasonable_ at least. She even had a name for each perspective: Pot, Kettle and Black. She waited for Buffy's response, for a stammered reprove, verging on disbelief, but instead, the Slayer turned to Faith.

"If he goes to the cops, what kind of time will he get? Will he even do any time?"

"What, you mean once they're done showing what an upstanding guy Mr No Longer Upstanding was? Sorry, B, I'm with Willow on this one."

"Of course you are."

"Hey, you wanna start adding up all our little crimes and misdemeanors, there's none of us saints, Buffy. Only difference right now is, Willow did a stint in Wicca rehab and I spent three years in the joint. C'mon, you think about it, Xander's just about the only one not responsible for padding out a body bag at least once."

"This_ is_ different," Buffy said. Her brow scrunched up slightly, as if she were trying to sort through very carefully whatever words might follow. "Willow was grieving and you … you needed help."

If Faith was at all angered or offended or even just surprised at Buffy's assessment of her stint on the homicidal side of the tracks, she recovered quickly with a shrug. "So, maybe it's just not different enough. We turn this guy in, we're not helpin' anyone."

Buffy sighed heavily, shoulders sagging. "It just feels ... I don't know. God, did I mention how much this sucks?"

Faith tucked her fingers into the pockets of her jeans, sucking on her upper lip, eyebrows knit together in deliberation. "Look, we're not talkin' about some random psycho. Fucker got what was comin' to him and ..." The note of quiet determination in her voice seemed to waver for an instant before normal service was resumed. "And I'm sorry if I can't work up the enthusiasm to get all weepy about it."

Buffy's own expression turned frosty. "Didn't we have this conversation before one time?"

"Hey, this guy wasn't caught in the crossfire – he was a fuckin' sleazebag. You think he gave the damage he was doin' to her a second thought?"

"And that makes it okay?"

"No, I'm not sayin' that. Quit puttin' words in my mouth."

"Well, stop acting like this is just some great karmic retribution."

"Nah, I'm thinkin' more _live like a prick, die like a_ —"

"Willow!"

The panicked tone in Caridad's voice brought the verbal skirmish to an abrupt halt, bringing the three of them back out into the living room. As Willow stepped past the body, the smell of something metallic hit her: energy and blood fusing together, twisting around each other, melting into one. Following Caridad's wildly pointing finger, she saw Amy's body twitch convulsively, eyes wide and glowing, her head bobbing back and forth like a rag doll caught in the jaws of a puppy.

Then, suddenly, it stopped and Amy looked at her, lips curved.

"Time's up," said the witch and raised her hands, fingers stretched toward the middle of the room, where Buffy and Faith were standing.

Willow yelled, lifting her own hand to stop it, not even considering where she might be drawing her weapon from – no time to mess around with white earth magic – but, before the bolt of energy could leave her, an almost blinding red light erupted, then flames, and another more sickly and familiar smell: burning flesh, intestines, bones, teeth, hair.

"There," Amy said brightly. "Problem solved."

Through the swell of queasiness rising in her stomach, Willow felt the tension release from her muscles, the fledgling dark energy fizzling to nothing as the smoke disappeared and she saw what Amy had done.

Saw Faith and Buffy gaping at the charred, empty space on the floor between them.

Buffy glared at Amy. "Are you _insane?_"

"Oh, don't give me that look," Amy scoffed. "You protect murderers and God knows who else, but getting rid of a dead rapist somehow crosses a line?" She looked at Caridad, who, in turn, looked like she was about to lose her breakfast. "Sorry about your floor. You probably won't get your deposit back."

"Yeah, I'm going with insane." Buffy threw her arms in the air.

Faith poked at the freshly singed wood with the toe of her boot a couple of times, then stepped away again with a shrug. "Rat Girl's got a point, though. Can't turn the guy in now. Besides, you wanna try explaining all this to the former-Sunnydale boys and girls in blue?"

She looked at Willow then.

Who held her gaze for as long as she could before the spark of recognition she saw in the Slayer's eyes forced her to turn away.

* * *

_She shut the apartment door behind her. Walked swiftly down the hall._

_Anya. Demon-Anya. Annoying-Anya. Ex-girlfriend-of-Xander-Anya._

_Kind-of-attractive-Anya._

_Kind-of-attractive-helpful-Anya. Who might not know how to talk to people without scaring them or pissing them off, but Anya _got_ it. The magic _and_ the pain._

_ Bossy too, so she wouldn't let Willow slip ..._

_And for a brief second, all she'd seen was an attractive, helpful, kinda really forward woman standing in front of her. Then she'd caught herself. Thank God._

_Bad thoughts. The worst. Apart from anything else, Anya was just so, well ... annoying._

_Nice hair color though._

_God, she was lonely._

* * *

Flicking a short length of ash into one of the plant beds beside her feet, Faith stood in the courtyard and pulled on her cigarette, the tobacco hit serving a duel purpose this time around: feeding the addiction as well as masking the smell of burnt rapist that was lingering around her nasal passages.

Buffy was still upstairs, sorting things out with Caridad, now that the other junior Slayer and her brother were headed back to the family home. Meanwhile Willow and Amy stood at the other side of the courtyard next to the gate of the arched passageway leading to the front of the building, looking at each other with … not contempt … more like a weary sort of boredom, while they wrapped things up.

"Well, I'd like to say it was fun catching up, but …" Amy shrugged.

Willow looked at her, eyes narrowed. "And you're honestly sayin' you didn't leave that message?"

The other witch paused for a second, then sighed. "Okay, I'm not gonna lie. I heard on the grapevine from Tucson that you were headed to Sunnydale and I was curious, but that's all. I didn't leave any message anywhere."

"Then who did?"

"How should I know? Maybe it _was_ your dead girlfriend …"

Faith saw Willow's shoulders tense. "Amy, now's really not the best time –"

"Or, far more likely, you're projecting. You know, it wouldn't be the first time that big brain of yours got all screwy and you did something weird to yourself."

"You think_ I_ put that message there?"

"Well, far be it from me to suggest you're a narcissistic egotist, but having your girlfriend still pining for you in the afterlife might just be the kind of thing you'd be into."

"Amy, shut up," Willow snapped.

"What? You come back to Sunnydale – or what's left of it – and suddenly Tara decides to make an appearance? You know, the kind of appearance where she doesn't actually appear anywhere? The only way it could be more pathetic is if you started smelling phantom pancakes in the morning. She's dead, she's probably happy wherever she is, get over it."

Up until now, Buffy's earlier diagnosis aside, Faith had been swinging back and forth on whether Amy was just a little unhinged or merely just stupid. Right now, as she watched Willow's jaw clench hard as steel, face burning and nostrils flaring, 'batshit crazy' was looking like the one to beat.

But, the surprises kept on coming. All of a sudden, Willow's outrage seemed to deflate like a burst balloon and she was looking back at Amy with sad, tired eyes and a lip curled uncertainly.

"I … I don't know. Maybe I did?"

"You know you did," Amy sneered. "But, on the bright side, now you can go home to whatsername with a clearer conscience."

"Huh?"

"Your other bodyguard … I assume she's an actual Slayer now."

"Kennedy," Willow said. "She wasn't my bodyguard. And … we're not together anymore."

"Chased another one away? What did you do _this_ time?"

Willow sighed. "Did it ever occur to you … you know, while you were busy trying to get me to murder —"

"Let's not blow it out of proportion," Amy snorted. "It's not like murder's such a huge deal for you. I mean, you've even got a homicidal friend to play with now, who, by the way, shouldn't she be in prison still ..."

"Hey, standin' right here," Faith drawled, but the two women barely glanced at her. Instead, Willow took a step forward and, while Faith couldn't swear on it, she was pretty sure she saw a spark of electricity – and not the metaphorical kind – as the redhead grabbed hold of the other witch's upper arm, squeezing tight.

"You can never prove what I did, Amy. We both know that. Faith's a different matter. But, until we fix that, if you do anything stupid, like sic the cops on her? I'll hunt you down and I'll end you. Do you hear me?"

The hand holding the cigarette on its way to Faith's lips came to a halt. She tilted her head, watching while Amy stared back at the redhead with a sullen, poisonous look in her eyes.

"Fine," the witch said, shaking herself free from Willow's grasp. She rubbed her arm, the smirk returning. "Looks like your new bestie might be onto something."

Willow frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you know, your little psych-out game this morning? She had some really interesting things to say about your future …"

_Shit._ Faith tossed her cigarette to the ground and started for the other side of the courtyard. "Hey, Willow? Reckon B must be about done upstairs. We should probably get goin'." She turned to the other witch. "Can't say it was a pleasure, Amy, and I'm sure there's a cozy little sewer somewhere you need to get back to …"

Amy's eyes narrowed. This time, the contempt was loud and clear. "The rat comments? Really getting old."

Willow sighed. "Amy, unless you want me to magic you to a third rail on the New York subway, just go."

"I'm going," said the witch testily. With a final smirk, she turned and opened the gate, heading down the passageway until she reached the parking area and disappeared around the corner.

Faith looked at Willow as they made their way back across the courtyard. "Gotta say, far as arch-enemies go, you could probably do better."

"Hmm," Willow replied distractedly, lower lip turned out, deep in thought. She looked at Faith. "Do _you_ think I put that message there?"

Faith shrugged. "Not really sure how the whole 'doing yourself' mojo works."

"Stress, anxiety, guilt … Other people get hives, I do stuff like make my friends not exist and turn myself into a guy."

Faith nodded slowly. "Guess the last couple days _have_ been kinda stressful …"

"Exactly," Willow sighed. "God, I suck."

Faith pulled the door to the apartment building open. Just before Willow passed her, she paused, eyeing the Slayer's coat with curiosity.

"Hey, is that your new police jacket?"

Faith rolled her eyes. "Go ahead – make the crack."

"No, it's nice," Willow said and smiled a little.

They went inside and headed upstairs, just in time for the sky to open up again behind them. As the sound of heavy rainfall reached her ears, Faith cast her mind to a mountain of rubble beside a crater barely twenty miles away, pictured a small collection of carefully arranged stones being slowly swallowed up by the muddy earth around it, until it disappeared.


	13. Eight: Can't You Hear Me Knocking, Pt 4

**Can't You Hear Me Knocking, Pt. 4**

Giles once told her British people weren't so much obsessed with the weather than it made for a safe talking point when they weren't quite ready to give up that reserve. Buffy wasn't so sure; Willow said _everyone_ talked about the weather there and didn't even realize they were doing it half the time. Even so, it probably did serve some sort of innocuous purpose.

Letting the front door swing shut behind her, Buffy inhaled deeply. The air was still a little musty from the rainfall, with a tinge of post-storm electricity clinging to the atmosphere too. The cigarette smoke currently added to the mix wasn't unpleasant; still gross as far as gross addictions went, but there was something weirdly comforting about it all the same.

A few yards away from the hotel entrance, Faith stood watching her, gaze wary, mouth set in an indifferent sneer, the patented 'just waiting for you to say something I can get pissed off at' look. Buffy smiled, friendly, but not perky; perky might well deserve a split lip. She tilted her chin toward the horizon, where patches of yellow and orange swept across an otherwise purple sky. The overall effect wasn't unlike a giant bruise, only a lot less painful to consider.

"Nice night."

Faith's defiant expression fell behind a rapidly exhaled plume of blue-grey smoke. Buffy ignored the small twinge of pleasure at having denied her the satisfaction of more crossed words.

"Uh, yeah. Not bad. Beats the waterworks." Faith kicked lightly at the gravel beneath her feet, the frown she wore gradually making way for a slightly less scowly expression. She drew on her cigarette and looked at Buffy. "Say, this is gettin' to be a habit."

"What is?"

"Mooching my second-hand smoke?"

"I'm used to it." At Faith's inquisitive look, Buffy smiled. "Spike smoked."

"Right, yeah. Guess that makes it okay …"

Buffy's silent pledge to keep things calm crumbled. "God, Faith, why does everything have to be —"

"Yeah, okay. Sorry." The other Slayer looked away. "It's just ... I let this happen and I'm pissed off about it and I can't be pissed off if you're bein' nice to me."

"_You_ let this happen?"

Faith turned back to face her. "Yeah, I'm the one shoulda beat the shit out that fucker soon as she told me, stop him going anywhere near another chick as long as he lived. I'm the one said it was okay to send her to the old Hellmouth, remember? _Sure, she's a good kid, it'll be cool_. Figured I was doing her a favor, big brother just a few miles away and all. And now _he's_ got to live with all the stuff I didn't do right. I fucked up."

"Wow, way to make it all about you."

"Excuse me?"

Buffy sighed. "Look, I'm not gonna pretend I'm okay with everything that happened today, but, it's not your fault her ex tracked her down and it's not your fault her brother did what he did. So, if you're gonna use it as an excuse for some big _I'm such a loser_ crisis, then forget it. I'm not telling you to go win a medal in the Shiny, Happy Olympics, but, the girls need you ... I need you. And if you say anything about lapdogs, I _will_ hurt you."

Faith was looking at her, mouth opened slightly, but nothing verbal was forthcoming. Buffy could get used to this – a new game: _Render Faith Speechless_. Fun for at Least One Member of the Family.

"We all need you," she added, trying to soften the more specific blow, at least a little bit.

Her counterpart lifted a cynical eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

"Okay, maybe not each and every one of us, but, collectively, sure. Even Willow seems to have warmed up to having you around – evil, conjured doubles aside."

Faith shrugged. "Well, thanks for the affirmation and all, but I coulda done more."

"I just wish you'd told me," Buffy said.

The other Slayer didn't respond. Instead, they stood in silence, Buffy studying the days-old polish on her nails that was beginning to chip, while Faith contributed to the avoidance by examining the glowing tip of her cigarette.

Buffy took a long, calming breath, hoped her voice would stay even, matter-of-fact, wrapping an arm around herself as a sudden uncomfortable chill took hold. One of these days, she'd remember to start dressing more appropriately for awkward outdoors encounters.

"Spike … he tried to rape me."

Faith looked at her. "What?"

"I mean, back when ... before. He knew it was wrong. That's why he got his soul."

The other Slayer inhaled sharply. "Man, if I'd ... fuck, I can't believe that." Lips clamped firmly together, her head shook slowly from side to side until, finally, she turned her gaze back to Buffy. "I know you felt for the guy and, yeah, not speaking for myself, some of the things I've done ..."

_Someone who wouldn't have stopped without a baseball bat to the head ... the threat of shiny medical implements and hot, bitter breath against her skin _... But, Buffy was pretty sure Faith's thoughts were elsewhere too. She swallowed back the automatic surge of outrage. Not much more than a tiny spark these days. Easier now to understand how you could feel so numb, you didn't even care if the violation went both ways.

"… but, he called them 'ungrateful traitors'. Right to their fucking faces. Yeah, maybe it wasn't the best time, Scooby-wise, but Jesus, they never did _that_."

_Xander, who would never apologize for knowing what it was like to want to taste that fear; Willow, wiping away her argument with Tara, then the collective memory-fuck ..._

Faith was looking at her, stunned-and-angry having given way to a somewhat ill-at-ease concern. "So … you okay?"

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, it's fine. I mean, it was hard for a while. Truth is, it seems like a lifetime ago, so much has changed since then. Some of it for the better even."

The next few seconds swept by in silence, enough time for one of those weirdly candid looks to appear on the other Slayer's face.

"Makes you kinda glad for the whole _hush-hush_ thing. Can't see too many people takin' comfort in the fact the world got saved by a bunch of sex abusers and murderers."

"Yeah, that'd be some headline." Buffy smiled brightly, her inner-cheerleader breaking free, eager to lighten the moment. "But, our pictures would be pretty."

Faith hesitated, then slowly, she grinned back. "Well, mine would, sure."

"Of course." Buffy paused, took a breath, hoped to God her next words wouldn't cause the other woman to bolt like a spooked horse. "You know, if we're gonna make this work, Faith, you're gonna have to trust me."

The other Slayer didn't bolt, but a tiny spark of alarm briefly illuminated the dark of her eyes. Some sort of clarification was probably required.

"You don't have to tell me _everything_," Buffy continued. "For instance, I really don't care where you go some nights. On your own. And you won't tell anyone."

Faith looked at her. "You don't care about that, huh?"

"Okay, it's killing me not knowing," Buffy said, pleased to see a full smile break through the other woman's features at last. "But, the point is, sometimes you're gonna have to tell me stuff you don't wanna tell me."

Faith didn't say anything for a moment. Then, finally, she nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

"And that's always nice to hear," Buffy said with a grin. She released a long puff of breath. "I'm gonna head back upstairs, see how Willow's doing."

"She still upset over the 'message from myself' mojo?"

Buffy shook her head. "Willow and accidental magic? Not exactly long-lost strangers. I guess you've got the bruises to prove it. No, she seems to be okay now. I just wanna check her … general Willow-ness."

The other Slayer nodded. "I'll be up in a few."

Buffy turned away, heading across the crunchy gravel toward the hotel entrance.

"Hey, Buffy?"

She paused and turned back around, saw Faith watching her, the corner of her mouth tilted up in a faint, commiserative half-smile.

"Thanks for tellin' me."

* * *

Clutching the edge of the bathroom counter, Willow steadied herself. The nausea was beginning to subside, but the pounding behind her eyes made her want to scream.

She looked in the mirror, expecting to see something hideous reflected back in the soap-spattered glass, something so ugly and grotesque, she'd want to throw up anyway, or at least be forced to look away. But, there she was – skin a little flushed, eyes slightly watery – but no real difference from when she'd gotten up yesterday morning, showered, brushed her teeth, combed her hair, borrowed some of Buffy's make-up. Nothing to show for the thoughts she'd been willing herself not to think all afternoon.

_He'd fucking deserved it. That insignificant little prick had deserved to die. And maybe not slowly enough._

Tightening her grip on the counter's edge,she squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again and stared, a kaleidoscope of shade and color passing in a blur before her eyes: _redwhiteblackpaleredwhiteblackpaleredwhiteblackpal e ..._

"Willow? Are you okay?"

She turned away from the mirror. Buffy stood in the bathroom doorway.

"I didn't hear you come in."

Buffy's fingers twisted at the thin belt around her hips. "Stealthy as a ... really stealthy thing. Plus, you know, deep-pile carpet."

"Are you disappointed in me?"

Buffy looked as taken aback by the question as Willow was to have asked it.

"What? No. Of course not. I mean, what Faith said ... I know I'm not gonna cry over that guy. That wasn't the point. The _situation_ deserved some consideration, that's all."

But, there _was_ more: the higher pitch of Buffy's voice, the slant of her eyes. _Think louder, damnit._ But, Willow didn't need mind tricks to read Buffy's thoughts right now. The nausea threatened a comeback; not gut-wrenching, but enough to let her body know that some things might be forgiven, but not forgotten.

Buffy shrugged. "You know, I've done things I'm not proud of too. And I'm not just talking about kinky sex with vampires."

Willow allowed herself a small smile. For a suitable length of time. "I really am sorry about Spike. I know what he meant to you."

"When you've got some time, maybe you can tell me. _I'm_ still not sure."

"I know you loved him."

"Yeah, but there're at least fifty-seven varieties of _that_ and right now, as far as these things go, I'm happy to be out of the loop." Buffy smiled a little. "The downside is, I keep getting _I've Never Been to Me _stuck in my head."

Willow offered a sympathetic wince as they moved into the other room. Flopping down onto her bed, she pulled her feet up to sit cross-legged. Through the wall, she could hear the door to the other Slayer's room open and close again.

"Are things okay between you and Faith? Okay-ish?"

"Well, no punches were exchanged, so big tick in the 'grown-ups' column." Buffy smiled as she sat down on top of her own bed. "We're fine."

"So, you spoke to her?"

"Just a little bond-age," Buffy said, then winced. "That came out _so_ wrong."

"Yeah, thanks for the visual." Willow added a grimace to the awkwardness. "Sorry, that came out kinda wrong too."

"Maybe we should just stop talking for a minute."

"Good idea."

The silence lasted all of fifteen seconds.

"You know, Faith's got a bottle of Jack Daniels in her room," Willow said.

Buffy paused, then wrinkled her nose. "Can we have it with Coke?"

Willow grinned. "I'll go check the drinks machine."

* * *

The knock on her door was quieter this time and she didn't have to scramble around for something to pull over her head either before she answered.

"This the part where you tell me there's a really nice version runnin' around?"

The redhead gave her an awkward smile and held up two cans of soda. "It's the part where I ask if you wanna come through to our room and get wasted."

"Hate to tell ya, Diet Coke's not gonna do it."

"It's also the part where you offer to supply the booze."

Faith hesitated, then chuckled quietly. "Guess it's been that kinda day, huh?" She crossed the room and picked up the bottle from the night table, casting around for wherever she'd left her key.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." She picked up her coat and slipped her hand into one front pocket, then the other.

"What did Amy mean back there?"

"About that message?" Faith pulled the key out and dropped the coat back on the bed. She looked at Willow. "Thought we were done with that."

"No, you said something to her, about me? I mean, I know you said you were gonna mess with her, but you talked about me? What did you say?"

The Slayer debated for a moment, remembered the redhead's expression while the sanctimonious little Wiccan prick had made sad eyes at her over a fucking _tea set_ for Christsake, so smug Faith had wanted to reach right across the table and rip his fucking face off.

_"... aware of your history ... a person with your kind of past ... willful abuse of your powers ... possible cause for concern in the future ..."_

So easy to remember those words, it had been like reading from a book. So easy, she could afford to add a few kinks of her own.

Faith shrugged as she hit the light switch and they left the room. "Nothing. Doesn't matter. Just some bullshit."

Willow looked at her, eyes searching, and for a moment Faith was concerned that nonchalance had been the wrong choice; that she should have gone for The Elaborate Lie instead, the wackier the better. Finally, the other woman's mouth quirked into something slight and uneasy that _might_ have passed for a smile under less scrutiny, but Faith was thankful for it for nonetheless.

"Yeah," Willow said. "I thought so."

* * *

**Wednesday**

_How could he not care so much? First Cordelia and now ... this._

_Not so much a punch in the gut, more like the oxygen was being sucked from_ _her lungs. And not just doing it, but _telling_ them about it._

_The message, loud and clear: girls like you mean nothing._

_Still, he got what he wanted. That was the important thing. Even if it was just a joke to her, just another thing she could take away. Boys like him made it easy._

_Jerk._

_Well, she was done caring now._

_Willow stood up, wiped her eyes, and opened the door._

* * *

The thought had flashed across Willow's mind like the revolving glare of a lighthouse beacon while Faith had talked about sainthood, lack thereof, and who did and didn't have blood on their hands: _Not exactly true_. He may not have lit the fires himself, but even the possibility of a connection should have been enough to provoke a confession, give them an earlier start. Instead, he'd kept it to himself while the smell of burning flesh had tainted the air all over town, walking away afterwards with not even a slap on the wrist to show for what he'd done.

But, then, Xander was good at keeping things – some things – to himself. She'd watched Buffy climb the stairs to her room when they got back, holdall in hand, shoulders slumped not exactly in defeat, but the weariness was familiar, and Willow had remembered. Horrible to have been betrayed like that, to think about how many times Buffy might have remembered that lie and wondered if Willow had simply stopped caring, wondered if she could still come to her and confide in her the way she once had. Worse still, perhaps, to have looked at him, hoping to see a stranger, as if that might explain why he'd thought it was okay to give Buffy no one to turn to after what she'd had to do, to drive that wedge between the two of them. Instead, all Willow had seen was her oldest friend, admitting to herself even then that years of easily-given affection and of loyalty and trust she could no longer stake her life on would be allowed to paper over the cracks.

Maybe _that_ was his power: the cloak of impenetrability that protected him from responsibility and judgment, drawing automatic sympathy and forgiveness instead, while the rest of them wore their abuses and the burdens that came with accountability like scarlet A's. She wondered where that came from, when that privilege became something they all just accepted. _Not better than us, luckier than us?_ No need to be special, when 'ordinary' carried so much weight.

One of these days, she really needed to have a not-so-good long talk with him about a few things.

He was standing at the old water pump outside, practically an antique, cleaning some paintbrushes. The sun dipping behind him made the tips of his hair glow, almost like badly-applied highlights, while a dark shadow fell across the ground in front of him, elongated head and shoulders crawling up the wall of the work shed like a giant ink stain.

Any thoughts about long, stern talks dissipated as she caught him in a bear hug, squeezing tight.

He staggered back a couple of steps. "Uh, welcome home? But what's with the — hey, watch out, wet paintbrushes ..."

"I don't care."

Nevertheless, she heard the brushes drop to the ground behind her with a dull clatter, felt his arms encircle her.

She rested her head on his chest, the fuzzy cotton flannel soft against her cheek. Breathing deeply, she tilted her head up to look at him, happy (relieved) to bask in the warm smile she saw. She tightened her hold and he coughed, waggling his eyebrows.

"So, anything you wanna tell me about four hot Slayers and a recently emancipated witch? Don't spare any de—"

Her face fell. "Xander, don't. Please?"

His own expression collapsed. "Hey, sorry. Joke."

"It's just been ... it's been a weird couple of days."

Xander's brow darkened and he let her go, taking hold of her hand instead. "What happened?"

* * *

_Oh, wait, big fucking surprise – looking to do his 'up with people' thing again._

_(No, that's not what —)_

_Kind of a blur? Kind of a blur for her too. Horny as ... well, fuck and a warm bod ready and willing to give up its cherry to the first chick who offered._

_(Wondered how they'd spin that – he was 'just a guy', she should have known better?)_

_"Someday, sure, yay." Reckoned he had a standing invitation. What the fuck? Like he fucking owned her?_

_Oh, but, someone needed a lesson about who was in charge._

_Think you know me now?_

* * *

She straddled the body, trapping an arm beneath her knee, while he bucked and squirmed beneath her. Wouldn't keep still. Fucker. She didn't blame him, but he just didn't _get_ it. She'd won – she was bad, bad, bad (_no not bad just better_) and there was nothing he could do about it. Wrapping her fingers around the throat, skin craggy, but soft, like chapped leather, she began to squeeze …

A sudden flash of movement a few yards away caught her attention; Xander driving the butt-end of his crossbow across the second demon's jaw. When the beast dropped to the ground, he stopped for a moment, breathing heavily, just before he aimed the bolt between its eyes and fired. He turned then, scanning the graveyard, his gaze coming to a halt when he saw her. Faith's grip tightened, her thumbs pushing down hard. Something in the way he was looking ...

_Think that's what he wanted? Maybe just a little bit? Hey, buddy, it's a real, live girl, doesn't matter what she's doin', so long as she's doin' it to you, right? Think he told all his geek pals about that too? And how the fuck do you apologize for something like — _

The beast smashed its free claw against the side of her face.

Steadying herself, knees crushing into its sides, she groped under the bottom of her jeans, found what she was looking for. A glint of steel, and the demon howled as she stuck the blade into its palm, nailed that fucker down. And, for a second, she almost felt sorry for the thing struggling beneath her, eyes staring back in shock and pain. It didn't stop her giving the knife a quick twist before she slammed down hard with her other fist, lurching forward as its chest gave way under the pressure and the struggle stopped.

Yanking the weapon free with a soft squelching noise, Faith pushed herself to stand up, glancing quickly across the cemetery where the rest of the group were huddled round the third demon, now a large mass of unmoving flesh sprawled out on the grass. They were nudging each other, chattering excitedly, like they were dissecting an after-school softball game.

"Nice party there." Xander was squinting down at what was left of demon number one. "Remind me never to look at anything ever again."

Faith shook her forearm free of a glob of reddish-brown goo, saw a tiny muscle below his eye-patch twitch, matching the curve of his mouth. Still a little fear, a little hurt, a little something else maybe to soften the blow, give him the upper hand in thought if nothing else.

("I sort of know you."

Really? Yeah. Okay. Uh-huh.)

His good eye suddenly took on a more concerned squint and he reached out, almost touched her cheek.

And she fucking flinched. Hated herself for it, for not letting him do his different kind of 'up with people' thing.

He took his hand away again, an apology twisting his mouth. "You're hurt. Looks pretty nasty."

"S'okay. No real damage."

She turned away as a new Slayer approached. The girl wiped at some dirt smeared across her own cheekbone, a demon-stained broadsword swinging lightly at her side.

"Everyone okay?" Faith asked.

"Uh-huh, didn't stand a chance against five of us." Catching sight of the carnage at Faith's feet, the younger Slayer made a face. "Ew."

Faith studied the girl. Just out of high school, college places lined up if she wanted it. Sharp as a tack, fierce when she needed to be, pretty in a wholesome sort of way. Pictures pinned to the wall beside her bed: mom, dad, tidy-looking boyfriend back home in one of those states in the Midwest. She'd told him she was staying with cousins in Virginia for the summer; he'd ditched her over the phone three weeks ago.

"You're gonna have worse messes than that to deal with," Faith said, brushing some dirt from the girl's shoulder as she jerked her head toward the SUV. "C'mon, go round your buddies up. Uncle Xander'll take us home."

She waited until the girls were all inside, until the door was shut behind them, until Xander started to make his way around the front of the vehicle to the other side.

"Hey."

He turned to look at her. If the lamps had been switched on, 'deer caught in the headlights' might have taken on a less metaphorical flavor.

"I could give you the whole 'Sorry I tried to kill you' speech, but then I'd just have to give it to everyone and, you know, it wouldn't be special anymore."

"Huh?" His missing eye twitched again.

Faith sighed. "Look, I'm not sayin' we have to be best buds, but, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. For the stuff I did that night …"

"What? No, it's fine." An exaggerated shrug lifted Xander's shoulders almost to his ears. "Water under the bridge. A lot of water. Maybe a flood even."

The corner of her mouth turned up slightly. "Yeah, sure."

Friends someday maybe. Not now, not when he still couldn't get his head around it yet. But, it was a start.

When they got home, she saw Willow sitting at the dining room table, the _Big Book of Wiccan Fucking_ opened in front of her, scribbling notes on a pad, with a bunch of different colored pens set out in some kind of order that probably made sense to her and no one else.

She went to her room, cleaned herself up in the bathroom and listened to the voicemail on her cell as she poured herself a shot. Pressing the 'return' key, she lay back on the bed and listened to the purr of the ringtone at the other end. She smiled as he picked up.

Good to hear his voice, just to talk a little: _Girls giving him a run for his money ... the Watcher's cats ... Indians still sucked ... a mystery movie he'd seen the other day ... no new romances on the horizon ..._

She put the glass down, wriggled a little to get herself more comfortable, and told him what she wanted.

He chuckled quietly; good humored non-surprise. "You really want to?"

"Sure. Just a little fun until one of us gets lucky. No harm, right?"

A thoughtful pause. "And you'll still respect me if my battery runs down?"

"Don't recall that bein' a problem before. Didn't call you the Energizer for nothing."

"Uh, you didn't call me that at all."

"Okay, I meant to. So, cell phone endurance permitting ... you up for it?" Her fingers hovered over the button on her jeans as she heard another quiet laugh, then:

"Well, I guess when you put it like _that_ ..."

Her thumb curved around thick, rough denim and she plucked the button free. "Good man."

* * *

**Some Girls #5 **

When he came to her room that night, he looked at her and he knew something was different. Then, while she cried, he held her until she fell asleep, and she'd dreamed about it while she waited.

Two days later, he opened the door to two women and took them through to her room, where she was already packing her holdall. One was dark and the other blonde, both bruised and cut, with tired shadows under their eyes, wearing clothes with sharp store-folded creases in them.

At the front door, he pulled her into his arms, squeezing tight.

"You'll take care of her? She's the only one I've got."

The woman he spoke to had flashed an uneasy smile, fear and uncertainty darkening her eyes. But, from that moment, Faith rarely left her side until the day she and Caridad were sent back to California to guard the old Hellmouth.

* * *

She'd woken up ten minutes before, a fuzzy sense of dread washing over her as the numbness of recent sleep began to lift and she was able to piece together fragments of the dream she'd left behind, the remembered taste of snot and stolen mascara on her tongue still fresh enough to make her wonder for a moment if she really had been dreaming:

No glass between them, just a small room on their own, not even a chair for extra company. She'd looked through the barred window into an outside so bright, it was like the world had been painted yellow. From behind, lips wet with gloss pressed against her ear, while forgiveness in the shape of strong, thin arms slid around her waist, holding her so close that separating them would have felt like being cut in two.

_"What do you want from her?"_

The heat in her gut blossomed like blood in water and she twisted in Buffy's grasp. Except now she was looking at her first Watcher, the woman's eyes flashing with a mix of pride and fear and sadness. Then a burst of darkness, like the sun had exploded, and the sounds of tearing flesh, screaming, and wet choking filled her ears; and so much red, she thought her eyeballs were bleeding.

(She wasn't gonna let that happen again, wouldn't fall apart, wouldn't let some monster tear her Watcher to shreds. Christ, she would have _died_ for her. _Fucking bitch_.)

Buffy smiled.

_"Are you ready to be strong?"_

Then crumbled into dust.

And Faith had cried like a little kid.

* * *

_She'd come back to her, the way she'd dreamed, hoped, wished, prayed she would; dreams that had kept her awake, long into the night. Willow held on, kissed her until they were both breathless, relief and release and love, so much love. Fear too in case she slipped away like a vision, in case it wasn't real after all. But, the smell, the touch, the taste, fingers on her neck, raking through her hair, the soft creak of leather as she pulled her closer; everything about it told her it was real._

_She'd never let her go. Not this time._

* * *

The robe was still hanging behind the bathroom door, but, under the cover of one o'clock in the morning, Faith reckoned she could get away with just a tee-shirt and a pair of pajama pants Robin had left behind.

What she didn't count on was Willow sitting at the breakfast bar in semi-darkness, the light above the stove not quite reaching far enough across the room. Her hands were wrapped around a mug sat on the counter in front of her. Faith could smell chocolate.

The redhead looked up, smiled a little. "Hey."

"Up kinda late," Faith said. "Haven't been conjuring in your sleep again, have ya?"

"What? No. No conjuring." The smile was a little more awkward this time. Sitting up, Willow pulled the fuzzy white robe with pink edges she was wearing closer around her. "What are you doing up?"

"Figured I could take in some fresh air while it's quiet." She saw Willow eye the pack of cigarettes on the ledge beside the back door.

"Uh-huh."

Faith shrugged, but stayed put. Thanks to what was apparently a duel outbreak of insomnia, it would be too awkward to slip out the back door now. "So, how come you're not all tucked up?"

"I couldn't sleep."

Faith simply nodded, saying nothing. More was coming – there was no way Willow wasn't gonna elaborate on _that_ – but she was reluctant to encourage it with another 'how come' question. Sure enough, Willow looked at her, all sad puppy-dog eyes, and Faith braced herself.

"You thought you had to protect her from me."

Right. She'd forgotten about that.

"It wasn't about protecting her," Faith said. "Not like that, I mean. Just didn't want you divin' in when you didn't know the whole story, that's all."

The wounded look edged away from the critical list, but the outlook was still on the grim side. "You thought I was gonna be ... you know … all with the diving?"

Faith shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know."

Willow frowned. "You know, even if I was thinkin' about that, which I wasn't, and even if she was that way inclined, which I don't think she is, I'm not exactly spontaneous diving chick. Really, my diving experience — I mean, I've done lots _of_ … but, there haven't been a whole lot — there've been two … two diving partners."

The Slayer squinted at her. "Okay, the way you're usin' that? Not really a metaphor anymore."

"I know," Willow nodded. "It was kinda too late to switch to something else."

Faith raised a questioning eyebrow. "So, you and Rat Girl never …?"

Willow looked appalled. She shook her head frantically. "No. Big no to that. Apart from the whole evil-and-hating-me-and-not-very-gay thing, she was in my bedroom in a cage for three years … and, okay, I realize how that sounds, but … no. Really no." Eyes still wide with affront, Willow stared down at her chocolate-flavored fix. But, before Faith could use the lull to make an escape, she raised her head again, squinting through the dim light. "It's just, you said you weren't gonna do stuff like that anymore."

"I didn't 'do' anything."

"Yeah, but you thought _I_ might."

Faith sighed. "Look, Willow, I'm tired, I'm havin' a pretty crappy night … I'm sorry for casting aspersions on your awesome character, okay? It crossed my mind for about two seconds, and I came down on the wrong side of it, that's all."

"It's not about aspersions," said Willow. "It's more just, like … not assuming stuff … all kinds of stuff … about me."

"Okay, fine, I promise, no more assuming."

Willow gazed back at her, trying to smile, but it still looked like she might be having as crappy a night as Faith was. With a silent sigh, the Slayer leaned on the counter, tilting her head as if deep in deliberation.

"But, you think maybe I could suppose a few things? Perhaps use a little deduction now and then? Some occasional inferring on the side …"

Willow didn't say anything, just looked at her, lips still straining at the edges. When she did finally speak again, her voice was quiet and unsteady: "Tara left me. I don't know if you know that."

Faith shrugged. "Heard about it. Thought you were leaning a bit too heavy on the magic, right?"

"Yeah, except she didn't leave _just_ 'cause I was using magic too much."

The Slayer frowned, confused. "This some kinda awkward segue into tellin' me you lied about your 'diving partners' number?"

Willow shook her head. "That woulda been … tacky good times compared to what I did. No, it's what I did with the magic that was the worst. I … I took away her memories, wiped them away like they were nothing, just so I could make things better for me. Like, who she was didn't matter … what she wanted … or didn't want. I didn't give her a choice when it came to how she felt about me." She looked at Faith, sad and a little bitter around the edges. "No need to let guys have all the fun when it comes to putting women in their places, right?"

Faith exhaled a long breath. More grisly tales of rape and abuse from unexpected sources. Prison was beginning to look like fucking charm school next to all the shit that went down before Sunnydale finally bit the dust.

She nudged the back of Willow's hand with her own. "Look, I'm not sayin' it wasn't a godawful shitty thing to do. Far as fucked-up goes, that's right up there and I wouldn't blame her if she'd magically wrung your fucking neck for it. But, you got yourself pulled together. You're not gonna do that again. Guys like him … they just don't care."

Willow sniffed and nodded and looked down at the counter top for a moment, before lifting her gaze once again. Straightening herself up, Faith studied her warily, hoped to fuck the less gloomy expression she could see now wasn't just some kind of calm-before-the-breakdown. As far as she was concerned, there'd been enough blood, snot and tears that night already and she wasn't sure she had the energy for more.

Instead, Willow gave her a faint, cautious smile, eyes slanted with concern. "You're having a crappy night too? If you need to talk …"

Faith shook her head. "Nothin' a little sleep won't cure … which is my subtle way of tellin' you I'm gonna go back to bed now."

The other woman hesitated for a second, just before the smile turned a little less uncertain. "I'll see you in the morning, then?"

"Sure. Goodnight, Willow." The Slayer left the kitchen and headed back upstairs, her own nicotine-flavored fix left unused and useless on the window ledge.

* * *

_Nighttime had taken the intensity of the Arizona heat down a few notches, but chilled refreshments were still preferable. From her place on the bed, where Buffy sat cross-legged in front of her, Willow watched Faith set the newly filled ice-bucket down on the counter by the sink then drop onto the other bed with a surprisingly light squeak._

_"Don't mess up Willow's bed," Buffy said absently, hands resting on her knees while the freshly-applied polish dried._

_"Already got that lecture this afternoon, B." Faith opened the bag of chips she swiped from the night table and motioned to the TV. "What's this?"_

_"The Hunchback of Notre Dame," said Willow._

_"Guess that explains the ugly guy and the belltower." Faith wiggled a little, making herself more comfortable. She squinted at the screen again. "Kinda old though, right?"_

_"Um, the 1930s, I think," said Willow._

_Faith nodded slowly, as if contemplating the oldness of the movie. "So, is it any good?"_

_"Yeah," said Willow. "Kinda sad."_

_"Not one of those feelgood hunchback movies, then?"_

_"Well, there're no songs in this one," said Buffy. "Except those guys when they made him dress up. Like they were doing him a favor. Jerks."_

_"Treat them like a joke and it keeps 'em in their place," Willow said with a decisive nod._

_"Jerks," Buffy repeated. She raised both her hands in front of her, assessing the new look, then let them drop again and looked at the TV, making a little throat-clearing noise, hesitant, checking … is this okay? "Tara liked this movie."_

_Faith's eyes flicked from Willow to Buffy, then back to Willow. "Yeah?" _

_Willow nodded. "I think she had a crush on Esmerelda." _

_"That the gypsy chick?" Faith looked back at the screen. "Yeah, she's kinda cute, I guess."_

_The smile Willow was wearing turned into a grin. "Well, she had a thing for redheads."_

_"You can tell she's a redhead in black and white?"_

_Willow laughed. "No, I just know she had red hair."_

_Faith paused. "Yeah, but you can't really know unless you check for sure, right?"_

_"Well, she was in other movies and ... oh." Willow fixed Faith with a suitably censorious frown, while Buffy provided the verbal:_

_"Urgh, gross, Faith."_

_"Anyway, it's a good movie," said Willow._

_Nails now dried, Buffy began rifling through the colors piled on the bedspread, picking the occasional bottle up and squinting at it studiously, before turning to the TV again. "Charles Laughton was gay, you know. Some people think his wife was too. I read that somewhere."_

_Faith shrugged. "Can't say I blame her – you're married to a guy looks like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, it's enough to make any chick switch teams."_

_Willow giggled. "Anyway, I think she was the Bride of Frankenstein. You know, with the scary big hair and all?"_

_"Christ, they didn't have any kids did they? Gotta feel for those little tykes."_

_Buffy shrugged. "I didn't read about that, but ... oh, Scott Hope's gay too."_

_"Who?" asked Faith._

_"Remember, that guy who broke up with me before Homecoming?"_

_The other Slayer frowned, bemused. "Wow, I knew there was somethin' up when he dumped your ass, but, shit, my gaydar was way off there."_

_"You have gaydar?"_

_"Lots of people do, Buff," said Willow. "Mine's pretty crappy. Kennedy's like ... she's like the Marconi of Gaydar."_

_"The who?" Faith asked._

_"The guy who developed radar for ships and stuff," said Buffy. The obvious pride she took in the knowledge reminded Willow she really needed to start dropping hints about Buffy going back to college too._

_A few moments of silence passed as they watched the film, then Buffy spoke again:_

_"So, d'you think they ever did … you know … do it?"_

_"Who we talkin' about now?" said Faith._

_"The Hunchback and the Bride of Frankenstein."_

_"If they did, betcha they kept the lights off."_

_"Don't be mean," said Willow, although the picture in her head was _not_ a pleasant one._

_"Yeah, it's not always about looks, Faith," added Buffy._

_Even Willow was forced to do a double-take at that. She stared at Buffy, while Faith said what they were both thinking: _

_"Yeah, like you've ever boned an ugly dude?"_

_"Well, um, if he had a nice personality I would ..."_

_"That's just the double-standard talkin' there, B. I mean, when d'you ever see a chick who's guy's way hotter than she is?"_

_Buffy took a couple of seconds to answer: "Okay, good point. So, you'd never ... you know, with a guy who wasn't as attractive as you?"_

_"All the time, B. I mean, c'mon, check it out ..." _

_While Faith laughed, Willow started to roll her eyes, but, Buffy was already open-mouthed – mock-scandal, with just the hint of a bitter twist:_

_"Better not let Xander hear you say that."_

_Faith groaned, eyes raised heavenward. "Christ, B, I was kiddin'. I wasn't thinkin' about that. Jesus ..."_

_Willow watched as the Slayer lay back again, adjusting the pillows, arm folded behind her head like she was settling down to catch some rays on a lounger at the beach, her focus back on the seventy year old movie, watching it with a curiously dull-eyed concentration. Willow wondered if she'd even heard the unspoken Riley and Angel in Buffy's voice (Spike too, for all Willow knew; maybe even Scott Hope), actual and potential notches against the Chosen One on a bedpost that might have made Woody Woodpecker do a double-take. Get some, get gone, leave a good looking empty space._

_She looked at the TV again, the dark black and grey images flickering across the screen like the shadows from the past they were. She wondered what it would be like to be able to forget like that, to have treated each encounter so inconsequentially that it barely even registered half the time. No guilt, no sense of loss, no need to surrender a part of yourself to someone else for all eternity._

_And the next night, while she slept in Buffy's arms, trying to keep her hopes at bay, thinking about how different things could have been, she'd dreamed about someone who'd once cared so little, she'd seemed like the most ruthless, monstrous person alive._

* * *

Half a bottle of Jack D downed – check. Impure thoughts with accompanying three-minute jerk-off – done. Going over training schedules until too damn bored to stay awake – fuck that. Thinking about a girl she'd spent two minutes with three and a half years ago, now dead and buried in a hole in the ground the size of, well, a small town in Sunny Cal – work in progress.

Only not just thinking.

From where she lay on her bed, shoulders propped against the headboard, Faith watched her memory of Tara Maclay stand by the window, like she was gazing out somewhere far beyond the boundaries of El Rancho Slayo, except the drapes were shut. Blonde hair hung straight, just past her shoulders, while a thin brown shirt and a long dark skirt with flowers on it covered a body that made Faith wish she was ten years old, just got back from school in the wintertime, Jack Frost nipping at her nose, a warm hug and the smell of home cooking. No trudging back outside through crunchy sidewalks and slushy roads in cheap shoes that pinched her feet to pick up whatever the fuck the dollar-sixty left over from the liquor store could buy.

The image that looked like Tara turned to face her and, for a brief moment, Faith wondered if maybe she was going psycho again. It didn't feel like it. No homicidal impulses, no feeling like her insides were being eaten away by something small and mean with blunt teeth that took forever to cut through, no useless desires bouncing around her big, dumb waste of a mind until, finally, they meshed together and all that was left was a thick, grey mass of toxic nothing.

Nope. No need to bring on the nightsticks and shackles. A half-empty bottle of JD and a dog-tired imagination was all.

The memory dipped her head and smiled a wide, nervous smile, arms crossed high over her chest, shoulders hunched. Faith reached for the bottle on the night table, unscrewed the cap and poured another shot, keeping her gaze trained on the image of the other woman all the while. Pushing herself to sit up a little straighter, she wondered what would happen if she asked imaginary-Tara to come sit with her. Nothing weird – just to sit beside her for a while and ... not even have to say anything. What the hell could they talk about anyway? _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_, she supposed. Ugly fag actors and hot gypsy chicks. Or how about something beginning with _W-W-W—? _ For old time's sake. Something like ... _Willow._ That would do. That was why Tara was here in the first place, wasn't it? Willow was where she lived now.

Faith put the glass to her lips and drank, the smoky burn inside her throat threatening to make her eyes water. But, she kept her eyes open, afraid to close them against the sting. Just in case.

Except the memory of Tara was telling her to close her eyes, and who was she to argue with an imaginary dead chick? Faith downed the rest of the whiskey and set the empty glass back on the night table, warmth from the liquor spreading through her body like the glow from hot coals. Hands folded behind her head, she let her eyelids drop slowly until patchy black and grey was all she couldn't see.

She listened to the sound of Tara's voice, even if she couldn't remember exactly what the girl had sounded like. Quiet, she thought, but she hadn't given her much of a chance to say anything at all, had she? Yet another shining moment in a short lifetime's worth of treating people like shit, like they were there just to entertain her.

_... and thou, blessed one, smiling with immortal countenance,_

_didst ask What now is befallen me, and Why now I call, _

_and What I in my mad heart most desire to see._

Faith smiled, not just an automatic response to the sheer fucking absurdity of listening to her memory of a dead woman recite Greek poetry; she was also aware of the hope that a lame 'fuck you' to the shame that squirmed inside her belly might work too. But, the accompanying sadness was almost too much. Not her fault, sure. Not that time, but ...

Her own words sounded thick and fuzzy through the dense fog of booze and almost-sleep:

"If I'd been there, I coulda stopped it. Things were different. _I_ was different ..."

The ache began to subside as the words trailed off into silence and even without opening her eyes, she knew that Tara was gone. But not forgotten.

* * *

**Some Girls #6**

She kissed his cheek and told him she was going to bed.

"Thanks again," she said. "For … everything."

"You gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Goodnight." She went through to her old room and lay on top of the bed, picked up a comic book from the night table and began to read.

She'd wanted to be like Wonder Woman. To fight for justice and to make them tell the truth.

To be like Buffy and Willow and Faith.

To be strong.

She hoped it wasn't too late.

But, then, none of them ever had a brother who'd take a bloody knife from her hand and beg her to let him tell a lie, just so she could stay a hero.


	14. Nine: Too Tough

**NINE: TOO TOUGH**

Crumpling the empty hotdog wrapper in her hand, Faith tossed it into a nearby trash can and walked over to the car. She sat on top of the hood, careful not to pick a soft spot where it might dent, and lit a cigarette, her eyes scanning the crowd milling around the twenty or so stalls set up in the middle of the field. She'd lost track of Willow ... she wasn't exactly sure when time-wise ... but reckoned on maybe another ten or fifteen minutes before their agreed meet-up time.

They'd dropped the new girl off at the airport, on her way back to Cleveland now to kick some Hellmouth ass; and while normally Faith would have taken her by herself, Willow had a couple of things to pick up at some magic store in town and so tagged along. Which meant that Faith hadn't been able to simply drive past the sign for a flea market just off the highway on the way home.

("Oh, come on. It'll be fun."

"You got a whacked-out idea of fun.")

After however-long trekking around after the other woman while she _wow_-ed and _hey_-ed over what looked to Faith like mostly junk, Willow herself had suggested they split up for a while then meet back at the car. Which had suited a bored and hungry Faith just fine.

She took a drag from her cigarette and continued to search the crowd, exhaling a cloud of smoke as she spotted the girl in question talking to some old guy across one of the tables while he handed her something wrapped in blue tissue paper. Faith hopped off the hood as Willow made her way through the rows of parked vehicles, her purse over her shoulder, a plastic shopping bag in one hand, the tissue-wrapped package in the other.

"You haven't been waiting long, have you?"

"Nope." Faith dropped her cigarette on the ground and waited for Willow to open the car doors. "Anything interesting?" She motioned to the bag.

"Just a few jars." Willow moved round to the back of the car and popped the trunk open. She put the bag inside and slammed it shut again. "But, here, I got you this." She held out the loosely-wrapped package.

Faith took it – heavier than she'd expected. "What is it?"

"Um ... at the risk of giving too much away, taking the paper off might help solve the mystery?"

The Slayer frowned and peeled back the thin, blue tissue, unwrapping it a couple of times before her question was answered. She lifted an eyebrow and looked at the other woman.

"You like?" Willow asked.

Faith pulled the Bowie knife from its sheath and turned it over a couple of times, letting the sun glint off the six or seven-inch steel blade. She held the hilt firmly in her hand for a moment, testing its grip, then, holding it carefully by its weapon-end, she studied the handle. About five inches long and, like the sheath, made from hand-carved maple, inlaid with a couple of nickel-silver diamond shapes. Lifting the knife closer, Faith studied the inscription on the silver ferrule below the guard. "_Sine qua non_?" She looked at Willow.

"Um ... _Without which not_."

"Huh?"

The redhead smiled. "It means ... uh ... essential – totally essential."

Faith nodded and looked back down at the knife. "It's super-nice."

"So, you like it?"

"Yeah." The Slayer raised her head again, an uncertain smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "But, isn't it kinda inappropriate? I mean, in a you-giving-me-a-knife-all-things-considered sorta way?"

Willow chewed on her lip for a second. "Maybe. But, well, I just saw it and thought you might wanna add it to your collection."

"No, it's great. It's ... I just didn't expect it. I mean, the last person gave me a knife ..."

Willow's thoughtful expression took a more anxious turn. "Oh."

Grinning, the Slayer shook her head. "Crazy bastard." She cocked her head to the side, looked at Willow. "Always meant to ask B what she did with it ..." Her grin vanished as Willow's expression turned even more uneasy.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think …"

"Hey, I'm jokin'." Faith chuckled. "I mean, c'mon, Will, there's enough history between us all, half the time I'm surprised opening a bag of chips doesn't make for _someone_ havin' a 'Nam-type flashback." She nodded past the last row of cars. "C'mon, let's try this baby out."

They stood a few yards away from the front of a beat-up Honda. Faith motioned to the short fence at the end of the field.

"Pick a post," she said.

"Okay, um ... that one." Willow pointed. "The one with the bumpy bit at the top."

"That I can do. Now for the tricky part – tricky if you're not me, I mean." Faith looked at Willow and grinned. "Top, middle or bottom?"

The redhead raised an eyebrow. "Middle."

"No problem." Faith turned the knife over in her hand, feeling the weight again, the surface cool against her skin, running her thumb over the engravings. Man, it was nice.

"Why d'you like knives?" Willow asked.

"'Cause I'm good with 'em." Turning her gaze back in the direction of the post, Faith lifted the knife shoulder-high and —

"But, isn't that sorta backward logic?" Willow pressed. "I mean, you must've liked them before you learned how to use them ... the way you use them."

Faith looked at her. "You gonna let me throw the damn thing?"

"Sorry."

Lowering the knife again, the Slayer sighed. "Okay, you use a knife on some ... thing, you gotta look it in the eye. 'Less, of course, you knife it in the back." She gave Willow a small smile. "But, most of the time, you gotta use it face-to-face." She glanced down at the weapon in her hand for a second, before raising her eyes again. "That's what I'd _like_ to say I like about 'em, but, it doesn't take a whole lot of honor to gut an old college professor called Lester."

Willow blinked, but didn't say anything.

"So, I guess I like knives 'cause ... I dunno ... they bring out the color in my eyes." Faith turned away again and squinted at the fence post. A split-second later, she smiled as the blade sank into the wood with a soft thud – dead center.

"I'm impressed," said Willow. "And maybe slightly disturbed."

The Slayer crossed the field and collected the weapon, running the blade lightly between her fingers while she made her way back to the redhead. Before she could slide the knife back inside the sheath, Willow said:

"Would you — I mean, if you didn't need the box, would you have killed me that time?"

Faith looked down at the knife for a second, then raised her eyes again. "Reckon so, yeah."

"And the 'deep pain'?"

The Slayer shrugged. "Probably."

The uneasy little frown returned. Not anger or resentment or fear even. But, anxiety maybe that Faith hadn't lied to make her feel better?

Faith nudged her and gave her a small grin. "I mean, I was _so_ evil back then. Bad to the bone, baby."

Still no smile.

Faith studied her. How to turn that frown upside down? Slipping the knife back into the sheath, something occurred to her.

"C'mon," she said. "I'll buy you an icy."

And, hey, gosh – it worked.


	15. Ten: Let It Bleed

**TEN: LET IT BLEED**

The vampire community was outraged. Or at least they feigned outrage.

It wasn't as if children had never been victims before, after all.

But, still, this was different. This was a vampire who _specifically_ targeted children; lured them from backyards or from swing parks, draining them and leaving their empty bodies for discovery the next morning in nearby parks or cemeteries.

"Like garbage," said Xander.

"Maybe he likes 'em, you know, extra-fresh," suggested one vampire, apparently forgetting to be appropriately outraged when Buffy and Faith went info-seeking at a local demon bar. He smirked at his buddies.

Buffy grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head and smashed his nose off the edge of the bar counter.

Three times, according to Faith.

"Fuckin' prick almost screamed the joint down," she said. The corner of her mouth turned up in a humorless sneer.

But, they'd picked up some potentially useful information.

Buffy looked at Willow. "The four of us are going out tonight. We're gonna catch this sick freak and end this thing."

* * *

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ." Faith kicked at a nearby trash can and looked down at the stake in her hand.

"What do we do?" said Willow, knowing how weak it sounded – how weak _she_ sounded – even before the words left her mouth.

"There must be _something_. Christ …" Xander drove the point of his sword into the grassy earth at his feet, his eye twitching.

Buffy, mouth open a little, her own eyes wide and watery, took a moment to answer. "I – I'm not sure." She looked at Willow. "Can't you — you know, the soul ..."

Willow shook her head. "There's no guarantee, and ... it's a curse, Buffy."

"Yeah, stick a soul in that one, best-case scenario is you're sendin' her straight to the psycho-ward." Faith squinted somewhere past Willow's shoulder and scratched at the tattoo on her arm, suddenly looking all of about fourteen years old.

"So, you think —" Buffy looked at her.

Faith snapped her head back round. "What's the alternative?"

The vampire was gazing back at them, eyes slanted in a pitiful effort to look contrite, as if, hopefully, there wasn't _too_ much wrong with the fact that she was kneeling beside a set of monkey bars with a tiny corpse on the ground right in front of her, fresh blood smeared around her mouth and chin.

Willow felt her stomach heave. She groped for Xander's hand, relieved when he found hers first.

"I just think — I mean ..." Buffy threw her hands in the air. "Well, we can't do nothing!"

"We're not gonna do nothing. We're not gonna leave her to keep doin' …" Faith gripped her stake a little tighter. A lot tighter. Her knuckles turned white. "It's a fuckin' vamp – end of story." She strode across the patchy dry grass and grabbed the vampire by the scruff of the neck.

Xander was pointing, the sword left sticking out of the ground on its own. His lip quivered as he looked at Buffy. "Is — is she —"

Buffy nodded. "Just … let her. It's — I think it's the best thing."

The vampire whimpered as she was hauled to her feet. Then the tears started, big wet sobs running down her face to mingle with the blood as she made a pathetic attempt to struggle free, her feet and hands finding only air. Faith clenched her teeth and adjusted the stake in her hand.

Seconds later, there was nothing left but a swirl of fine, grey ash. Faith wiped along her nose with the back of her hand and knelt down to examine the small, lifeless body the vampire had been feeding on. She didn't say anything for a moment, then finally she yelled across to them:

"This one's not comin' back."

Buffy glanced between Willow and Xander. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. "This stays between us, okay?" Her eyes flicked over to where Faith was making her way back toward them. "It doesn't leave here."

"Yeah, of course," said Willow.

Xander looked at her for a second, then nodded. "I'll call the hospital. Leave a tip so they can come and get ..." He nodded again, and rubbed his hand over his chin.

Faith returned to the group and picked up her jacket. Pulling a cigarette free from a crumpled-looking pack, she stared at it, head lowered, almost like she'd forgotten what to do with it.

When she finally looked up again, Buffy gave her a hesitant smile, and for a second, Willow thought her best friend might be about to say something to the other Slayer, but Buffy nodded in the direction of the park entrance instead.

"Let's get out of here."

As they walked toward the gates, Willow watched Faith fumble with the lighter she drew from the pocket of her jeans.

"So, whaddaya reckon?" Faith asked, as the flame sparked to life. "Five? Six?"

"Seven, maybe," Willow offered. But she'd thought five or six herself. She could probably check, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to. Like it would make that much of a difference anyway.

Faith shrugged and took a long drag from her cigarette. "You know the funny part?"

Willow frowned. There was a funny part?

"When we first got here, I thought the vamp — I thought it was a fuckin' dwarf." She looked at Willow. "Figured maybe I'd got another dumb story to tell the newbies."

Oh. _That _kind of funny.

* * *

She wasn't surprised when Faith went out after patrol three days later, since she'd run the name the Slayer had come up with just before dinner. Good timing, since she'd pretty much wanted to throw up when she'd read the newspaper accounts going back almost six years – before he'd been turned himself, when he and a buddy had, as Faith put it, 'fucked 'em up a whole other way'. According to the source that Faith had talked to, the vampire version liked to pick a location, choose a victim, then 'sit back and watch the fun' before moving on. Not _too_ different from his pre-undead activities.

"Probably on his way to Disneyland by now," Faith said. "But, I got an address. I'll check it out tonight."

She'd been gone for almost four hours by the time she got home, just after midnight.

"Waitin' up?"

"No ... yeah. Sorta." Willow looked up from her seat at the breakfast bar and eyed the other woman's jacket; most of the dust had been brushed off by the looks of it and the dark patches were beginning to dry. A few splatters were visible on her jeans too, as well as a couple of smears on either thigh where she'd wiped her hands. Her knuckles were bruised and bloodied.

The Slayer walked over to the sink and, from her jacket pocket, drew the knife Willow had given her. She ran the blade under the faucet, wiping her thumb along the metal to clean it.

"Did you kill him?" Willow said.

"Think the term you're lookin' for is 'slay'. Or, if you prefer, 'dust' …"

"I stand by my —"

"Fuck off."

That night, Willow lay in bed and thought about the expression on Faith's face when she slayed vampires that looked like little people. And about Faith's jacket.

And about ... blood _on_ dust?

* * *

She went back to the online newspaper archives the next day, read them over again. Then she hacked into the local police reports, the ones that had been filed in the last twelve hours.

The man dumped in the hospital parking lot had been badly beaten. Amongst other injuries were a broken left leg and two ribs; he'd bitten almost clean through his tongue, presumably before most of his teeth had been knocked out and his jaw fractured; and there was a knife wound in his hand, as if the blade had been forced through the flesh to pin him down.

On the plus side, according to an update from the last couple of hours, it looked like the cops might've bagged themselves someone the FBI had been hunting for almost six years.

Too bad there was no sign of his partner-in-crime; the one who didn't have an IQ in the lower double digits range.

Willow logged off and left the office. From the hallway, through the open front door, she could see Faith hosing down the back of the pick-up, radio on, cigarette in her other hand, laughing at something one of the newbies yelled from where a couple of them sat on the bench-seat on the front porch. The jeep, SUV and Willow's own car had been given a quick once-over too. Better that they were suspicious about her sudden urge to wash cars than about any one particular vehicle.

When Faith dropped her cigarette on the ground, she turned and caught Willow's eye. With a quick, sardonic smile, she stepped on the offending filter, just like any other day.

* * *

It was evening by the time she managed to get Faith on her own. That's what she told herself anyway, but there'd been more than one earlier opportunity.

Willow stepped out onto the back porch and stood by the railing, aware that she was rubbing nervously at a knot in the wood with her thumb – something to focus on other than the conversation she'd convinced herself they had to have.

She looked down to where the Slayer sat on the steps.

"I saw the police reports."

There was a second of hesitation, then the other woman shrugged. "I'm not worried. Cops are a little more clued-up around here. Guess 'cause they haven't had a Slayer to deal with the freaky stuff till now. Don't suppose they care what kinda condition he was in."

"That's not what I was ... I mean, great, fine, but ..."

Human blood and bones cracking, reveling in someone else's pain – the evil little side roads you could tour before hopping back on the highway to redemption. But, you weren't supposed to pick and choose – that's not what redemption was about. If you screwed up, it was 'cause you ... screwed up, not 'cause you went out of your _way_ to screw up. And maybe you didn't get a prize at the end of it, maybe it _was_ a waste of time, but redemption – and redemption was something you _did_; she knew that, because it never stopped – redemption was what made you able to live with yourself after all the crappy things you'd done.

"... I don't think I could have done that."

A sneer curled the Slayer's lip as she finally looked up. "Well, good for you. Guess that just makes you better than —"

"Stopped, I mean." Willow took a breath. "I don't think I could have made myself stop. Even if I knew about, you know ..."

Faith looked at her, curious, the indignant expression gone. "Even if you figured out he wasn't exactly playin' with a full deck?" She snorted. "Yeah, you woulda stopped. Probably been a bit quicker about it than I was too." Her mouth curved again, this time with something that looked a lot like a smile.

Inappropriate maybe, but, oddly reassuring.

For a couple of seconds at least.

"How can you know that?"

A pause, then the smile broadened. "'Cause you're _tellin'_ me about it, dumbass." Faith shook her head, still smiling, and pushed herself up from the steps.

Willow turned to watch her go inside, but her own grin faltered as she caught a glimpse of the other expression that the Slayer hadn't been able to mask. The one that Willow could see in her eyes – always (sometimes) the giveaway:

"But, you're still concerned." If she'd meant it to come out as a question, it only made it halfway there.

Faith leveled a gaze at her that, this time, _was_ hard to decipher. "Don't sweat it. It's not what you think."

The Slayer stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind her.


	16. Eleven: Rocks Off

**ELEVEN: ROCKS OFF**

She knew it wasn't the First because, when he sat down beside her at the end of the bed, he lifted her chin and she felt it.

"Why the long face?"

"Yeah, like you care." It might not be the First, but she kept her guard up.

"Of course I do! I'm always here for you. You know that."

He smiled at her, that cheerful little gleam in his eye that made him look more dangerous than anyone else she'd ever known.

"Things are just a little weird right now."

He shook his head and chuckled. "I thought things were going very well for you, all told. You can't let one tiny incident set you back. That's the problem with you young people. One little thing goes wrong and it's the end of the world." He paused thoughtfully. "Although, I guess in the case of _you_ young people, that _could_ actually happen ..."

"Kinda not in the mood for a lecture right now."

"Oh, my! Someone _is_ feeling sorry for herself, isn't she?"

She studied him for a moment, then let go of a resigned sigh. "So, you here to help?"

He smiled and smoothed a hand through her hair. "Always."

* * *

Sunlight flooded Buffy's room. So bright, Faith had to screw up her eyes to see properly.

There were two beds, like in the old movies; close, but never close enough.

One bed was empty and Buffy was in the other, eyes twitching behind closed lids, hair damp and matted against the pillow from restless dreams.

Faith frowned. She should've been sound asleep, like some princess in one of those fairy tale books. All peaceful and still and —

"No, see, people always think that, Faith. But those girls are usually dead or in some kind of anesthetized state ..."

"Or unconscious," Faith suggested. "Like, you know, a coma."

He chuckled. "You don't need my help at all, do you? You're a smart girl."

"Yeah, sometimes, I guess." She blinked against the sunlight again. It was forcing itself into the room, lighting up every corner.

But, it didn't burn.

She looked at Buffy again, then looked at him. "Maybe we coulda —"

He was already shaking his head. "Never gonna happen, Faith."

The sunlight vanished suddenly, like an eclipse, and there was nothing to see anymore.

* * *

Sometimes when she looked at him, she saw a handsome face with a goofy grin and warm eyes that sparkled with good intentions, or darkened with real concern, or begged for attention.

Those were the things that haunted her most.

Xander turned round on his other side, the most recent wound gaping open like a cold, dark cave.

No, not the most recent.

Faith looked at the satin sheets and smelled sweat and cheap cologne; hers or his, she wasn't sure. It was like bad porn. Except for the dead flowers and battered, open box of candy on the night table. _Really_ bad porn.

Tried not to look too closely at the marks on his throat.

(Wanted a Slayer, got a Slayer.)

She felt a hand on her shoulder. When he spoke, it was surprisingly soft:

"He wanted to help, you know."

"That was part of it, sure."

Always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time; never knew when to shut the fuck up. That, and the fact she was a fucking psycho.

"But, then, you play with fire ..."

Faith shook her head. "No, it was just ... it was nothin' personal. Don't think he ever got that." She looked up at him.

"It's always personal for boys like him, Faith." He smiled. "But, hey, maybe he just needs some time."

"Yeah, maybe." She picked up his clothes from the floor and put them on a nearby chair.

* * *

The full bottles of old single malt Scotch whiskey on the dresser glinted in the pale moonlight. Cartons of expensive foreign cigarettes were piled up underneath the window, plastic-wrapped, the seals unbroken, and the room smelled of fresh leather.

Faith stepped over to the wall opposite the empty bed and tilted her head to look at the wall-mounted case, fire-engine-red, with instructions printed across the bottom. She read out loud: "_In case of emergency, break glass_. Huh."

He stood beside her. "What's that doing here?"

"Dunno. It's usually in Willow's room. Her office, I mean. In a vault."

"So, where _is _junior?" He nodded back to the bed.

"Europe. Can't remember where exactly."

"Nice work if you can get it, eh?"

She studied him from the corner of her eye. "So, what happened? I mean, you coulda —"

"Darn IRS. I think _that's_ what happened. Like vultures. And people thought _I_ was evil."

Shrugging, she moved away from the wall again.

A gleam appeared in his eye as he held the door open, the smile on his face stretching wide. "Say, that was some trick you and your friends pulled off with all those new Slayers, wasn't it?" He chuckled and put his arm around her shoulder. "I saw you fighting and I thought, _that's my Faith, always in the thick of things_. You were a sight to behold ..."

They left the room and headed downstairs to the back hallway.

* * *

"Now, there's a lovely picture." He started to smile, then paused. "Wait just one second – is my memory playing tricks on me? Was she always here?"

"Kinda. It's ... complicated." Faith nudged him and grinned. "She's older than you."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, that probably makes her a very smart young lady indeed, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, doesn't miss much."

Dawn stirred and sniffed a little. Then Faith noticed the wet eyes. No choking noises or snot or anything, just ... almost-silent.

"Aw, jeez ..."

"Well, aren't you going to help her?" He folded his arms and looked at the Slayer expectantly.

"Whoa, _so_ not my thing, man."

Reaching out, he tousled her hair, laughing softly. "You'll learn."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Too bad Robin isn't around. You woulda liked him."

"Now, _that_ young man had his head screwed on." He grinned. "But, maybe a little _too _tightly?"

* * *

"Oh my goodness. What's going on here?"

Shrugging against clashing waves of blistering heat and bitter cold, Faith studied the objects, some sharper than others, that swirled lazily around the space in front of them. Noisy, jagged electricity held back the blood-red darkness that threatened to swallow the room.

"Is what it is."

"What this is, is an almighty mess."

"Not all of it. See?"

She watched him move to the side of the bed, where a pocket of quiet and stillness seemed to have formed. He studied the sleeping figure, her face a mask of calm acceptance, then looked at Faith. "She's responsible for all of this?"

"Yeah, hard to believe, huh?"

"I'll say."

Stepping aside to avoid a crossbow bolt that flew across the room and embedded itself in the door behind her, the Slayer stood beside him. Awkwardness and discomfort suddenly seemed to close in. Faith ignored it and cleared her throat. "She gonna wake up soon?"

"Well ..." Standing up straight, he put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Patience _is_ a virtue. I should know – I waited a hundred years for you, didn't I?"

Faith looked at him, smiled a little.

"But, from what I can gather, your little friend doesn't have the greatest endurance when it comes to sitting things out. Patience is _not_ her strong point." He looked at Faith. "You know? You should smile more. You've got such a pretty smile."

"Thanks, Boss." She glanced at the turmoil in the rest of the room, then turned her attention back to where she thought it should be. "Kennedy called her a Goddess." She looked down, frowning as she saw the mask shift into something more anxious.

"You don't say."

Faith raised her head again, keeping half an eye on the troubled expression on the sleeping woman's face. "Yeah. We were sittin' on the back porch steps, helping Xander move some stuff around? I was gonna say something smart when she said it, 'cause Will was blowin' her nose at the time and her eyes were all red and her clothes were kinda mussed up. But, Kennedy – she got this look. First, I thought it was maybe just 'cause, you know, Willow's older and powerful and kinda cute in an annoying way and she'd screw— dated a werewolf and a witch and that's probably a big deal when it comes to impressing super-powered chicks. But, it wasn't just that. I dunno ... the girl seemed kinda scared too."

He nodded and tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Goddess, eh? Kennedy got a _little_ carried away sometimes, don't you think?"

Faith chuckled. "No shi— yeah ... yeah, she did."

"So, what do you think she is?"

Looking down again, Faith cast her mind back, running through what she knew:

The brainiac ... the friendly nerd who got jealous when Faith stole her best friend ... the girl who could dust vamps with floating pencils ... who'd stood up to her back when Faith could've snapped her neck like a toothpick ... who liked boys who turned into wolves then decided she liked girls better ... who brought her best friend back from the dead ... who murdered people because she wanted them to pay for hurting her ... who wanted to end the world because everyone hurt too much ... who only didn't do it because her boy buddy told her he loved her ... who sucked the life out of her girlfriend and wiped the memories of the girl she loved most … the Jewish chick who prayed to pagan goddesses ... who had so many different personalities floating around, she could probably have an orgy with herself under the right conditions ... who took care of Slayers when vampires stuck them with swords ... who used magical scythes to change everyone's lives ... who lived with darkness ... who liked Elvis and root beer and sappy movies ... who was maybe the most powerful woman in the world.

Faith shrugged. "I dunno," she said. "She's just Willow, I guess."

The anxious expression vanished and Willow woke up.


	17. Twelve: Might As Well Get Juiced

**TWELVE: MIGHT AS WELL GET JUICED**

Sometimes it seemed Faith couldn't help make things sound all ... sexy.

Buffy said one time that she could 'wring an innuendo out of a doorstop'. But, that had been after Faith was whining about something then said that she probably just needed to get laid. Buffy apparently thought it was Faith's way of saying she missed Robin and maybe wanted to talk about it, so said all sympathetically: "Look, if there's anything I can do ..."

Faith had lifted an eyebrow. "Want me to spring for dinner and a movie first, B?"

While Willow had tried not to laugh, Buffy had gone red as a beet and started to backpedal, complete with stammering and wincing, before making the observation about the doorstop. A pretty lame observation under the circumstance, Willow thought.

But, generally speaking, it was true.

So, when Faith knocked on Willow's bedroom door at eight o'clock on Friday night and said, "How about a little one-on-one? Think you can take me?" Willow paused for a moment and tapped her fingers against the doorjamb a couple of times, then looked at Faith and said:

"Huh?"

* * *

"You've _got_ to be kidding."

Faith frowned thoughtfully, like she'd just been asked to explain Pythagoras Theorem to a monkey. She tucked her fingers into the pockets of her jeans and leaned back against the doorframe.

"Right, let's say Buffy and I get a little pissed off. We get to beat things up – you know, vamps, demons ... sometimes each other when we get lucky." She grinned. "Newbies get to work out their issues too, Dawn has her snits and, hell, even Xander can take his bad days out on his ... wood."

Willow sighed.

"Okay, thing is, you even _look_ like you're gonna get mad, everyone starts plannin' the quickest route to the hills – as in, run for. There's probably some _batten down the hatches_ goin' on too." She tilted her head back in the direction of the rest of the house. "I mean, it's gotta sting sometimes, right?"

"What are you talking about?" The snippy retort was automatic. But, Faith-plus-insight still sometimes had the ability to trigger a _get those defenses up _reaction that wasn't always justified.

Faith folded her arms. The defensive thing went both ways. "Fine. You wanna worry the rest of your life about what you _might_ do ..."

Willow frowned. "Is this about the other night?"

"Kinda." The Slayer shrugged. "No point worryin' about control when you're not even allowed to get a little wrath on now and again. Sometimes you gotta kick back for a bit."

"Meaning?"

"The way I figure it, you got just as much right to be a badass as the rest of us."

Willow groaned. "But, I don't _want_ to be a badass. I've _been_ a badass. I didn't like it. _No one_ liked it."

The Slayer chuckled. "Jesus, Willow, I'm not talkin' about destroying the world or shit. You said you were worried about makin' yourself stop if it came down to it. What I'm sayin' is, maybe you freaked out a little 'cause you never get the chance to take it round the block once in a while."

"Sorry?"

Faith raised her eyes in thought before directing her gaze at Willow again. "Okay, see, it's kinda like screwing ..."

"According to you, _everything's_ like screwing."

But, to her surprise, Faith actually looked serious. "No, hear me out. Nine times out of ten, those super-repressed types are the ones who're the most messed-up about it, right?"

Willow shrugged awkwardly. "Sometimes, sure. I guess."

"Well, that's 'cause they're so busy worryin' about it instead of just doin' it."

Willow sighed. "Okay, maybe it's the whole I-might-still-be-in-shock thing, but you're _sorta_ making sense." She reconsidered. "Not that a person should just rush into the 'doing it' of things, 'cause that can lead to all kinds of messed-up badness of a different sort and —"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm thinkin' more along the lines of the middle ground. We let the Big Bad out to play a little and you get a better idea of what you're dealin' with. Knowledge is ... power." The Slayer paused, then grinned. "Or boring, depending where you get it from."

Willow scowled. "It's not a game."

"Hey, you wanna talk about the downside of cozying up to the dark stuff for fun, I'm your gal. Just ... circumstances make it harder for you to cut loose. I'm offerin' you the opportunity, that's all." The smile that followed was surprisingly sympathetic.

Willow didn't quite return the expression, but she could feel her scowl disappear. "So, how's this supposed to help with ..." Echoing the Slayer's earlier gesture, she nodded in the direction of the household outside her bedroom door.

Faith turned serious again. "It's not. I mean, it might help you deal, yeah, but I can't do anything about the walking-on-eggshells vibe. You wanna get pissed off at _me_, fine – I'm not goin' anywhere. Probably wouldn't know how to batten down a hatch if my life depended on it." She paused. "Okay, I coulda rephrased that. But, look, what I'm tryin' to say is, I can't make everyone else stop gettin' that _I-need-to-change-my-undies_ look, but, it might take some of the pressure off."

"So, this is just about me?"

Faith shrugged. "Reckon so."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You got an earwax problem now?"

Willow shook her head. "No, I mean, why are _you_ doing this for _me_?"

"Oh. I guess, helping those less fortunate. It's this new thing I'm tryin'. Next week we do _How to Avoid Frills on Everything_."

"Is this the part where you try to piss me off?"

"I gotta try now?"

"Not so much."

The Slayer squinted pensively for a moment. "Okay, maybe it's — whaddaya call it …"

Willow hesitated. "Empathy?"

Faith lifted an eyebrow. "I was thinkin' more ... payback. Of the good kind. You didn't rat me out the other night and this works out cheaper than flowers and a thank-you card." A slightly derisive gleam appeared in her eye. "And we don't wanna go _there _again, do we?"

Willow responded with a quick, suitably abashed, smile, but a so-far unasked question was nagging at her, and she wanted to get it out before she changed her mind. "This isn't a curiosity-thing too, is it?"

A few seconds of hesitation dragged by, but the Slayer's gaze never left her own. "I can't help that part, but, it's not the main factor, no."

Points for honesty, at least, but Willow still wasn't entirely convinced. "Look, I get the whole letting-off-steam and testing myself thing, but, I'm not sure it's gonna work …"

Faith frowned. "Can't you just ... power-up or something?"

"No, I mean, even if I do and I turn all _grrr_, then what? It's not really gonna prove anything. All that'll happen is ... I mean, last time I pretty much kicked Buffy's ass ..."

The other woman's eyes darkened. "I'm not Buffy."

"Yeah, I know. I just — what I mean is, whoever kicks whose ass, I'm still not sure if I can trust myself under real circumstances."

Hands on hips, the Slayer squinted at her. Finally, she took a deep breath and exhaled wearily. "Yeah, it was a crappy idea, wasn't it?"

Willow shook her head. "No, not crappy. I mean, I appreciate it, I really do. I just think maybe it's more of a ... talky thing."

"Talking?" Faith groaned. "Aw, Jesus ..."

"You don't have to talk," Willow said quickly. "I mean, you can just listen and make _mmm_-ing noises. You don't even have to _really_ listen. You just have to look all sort of empathic ... or paybacky."

Faith tilted her head. "Isn't that kinda thing more B's deal, or Xander's?"

"Xander's ... I don't really wanna bother him right now. He's got other stuff goin' on. And he'd be all Mr Supporto-guy anyway. You know, _oh you're absolutely not gonna do anything!_ And I don't know if that's what I need. And Buffy?" Once again, the rest of the house was indicated. "She doesn't mean to, but, yeah, I know she worries." Willow offered a small smile. "It's like you said, if I'm tellin' someone about it, it means I'm probably not gonna do it. Only with _more_ talking this time."

The other woman's discomfort was obvious. She looked away, bit her lip. "I dunno ..."

Willow released a frustrated sigh. "I'm not trying to ruin your reputation as Badass Action-Chick, but, you don't talk much sometimes and that's good – for listening, I mean. And you wanted to help ..."

The Slayer looked at her, eyes narrowed, still wary. Then, finally, with a quick, dramatic toss of her head, she folded her arms stiffly. "Okay, fine. Talk away and I'll be all empathic."

Willow smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." A slow grin crawled from one side of the Slayer's face to the other. "But, only if we do it _my _way."

* * *

Willow cast her gaze around the room, letting her eyes travel briefly over the scuffed-up wooden flooring; the scratched and pitted bar counter marked with the occasional cigarette burn; the faded red and gold flock wallpaper that had probably been a cheap attempt to add some class twenty or so years ago; the wall lamps that would maybe give off a little more orangey light if someone thought to clean the bell-shaped glass shades. Not the nicest place by any means, but not a dive either. It was ... just right.

The older of the two bartenders behind the counter – the owner maybe – had given Faith a nod of recognition when she and Willow arrived. The Slayer had obviously spent time here before and Willow wondered why she'd never told anyone about it. Robin maybe, except, putting two and two together ...

"This is where you go in the evenings sometimes? On your own?"

Faith set the beers on the table and slid into the seat opposite. "Where d'you think I was goin'?"

"Oh, someplace like this, I guess." The response came out perhaps a little too quickly and Faith raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"Uh-huh."

Willow bit back an apology. "Well, you wouldn't tell us."

"Guess I didn't want it turned into some kinda Scooby clubhouse." Faith looked at her. "No offense."

"Offense taken." Willow took a sip from her beer. "Anyway, the 'lone Slayer' thing? Kinda hard to pull off when you're training the next generation. Alongside Buffy, no less."

"We get along okay these days." Faith grinned and, lowering her gaze, toyed with the neck of her own bottle, but it stayed on the table. After a few seconds, she raised her eyes again, serious once more. "Guess maybe this is my big second chance."

For a short moment, Willow was confused. "Sorry?"

"You know, do the right thing … make a difference … impart knowledge and experience?" The Slayer smiled. "Still doesn't make me a Scooby."

"No, I guess not." The words sounded a little uncertain and distracted, even to her own ears. Willow shifted in her seat and took another drink, wiping a drop of residue from her upper lip with the back of her hand, as if she were clearing away a milk mustache. She looked at the other woman. "It's just, some days I wake up and I come to breakfast and I keep sort of half-expecting you not to be there."

Faith's mouth opened slightly, like she wasn't quite sure how to respond. Willow wasn't exactly certain what an appropriate response might sound like either. Something like _What the f— are you talking about?_ wouldn't have surprised her, but it might have stumped her.

What_ was_ she talking about?

Thankfully, the Slayer decided not to pursue the matter. Instead, she picked up her beer and tilted the base of the bottle toward Willow.

"You've stayed pretty loyal. The occasional ass-kicking aside."

"One ass-kicking," Willow corrected. "And one mutiny."

Faith took a drink. One of those languid sips that people in movies seemed to take whenever they were mulling things over. "Not bad for, what, seven years? And it wasn't a mutiny. It was a … reality check."

Willow smiled. "Mutiny, reality check – same difference in real terms."

"You're still guilt-trippin'? Figured you guys were over that by now."

"Oh, we are." Willow was relieved to hear how honest and certain the words sounded. "But, not exactly a favorite memory."

The Slayer shrugged. "Doesn't change the fact you stuck around all this time."

Willow mirrored the gesture. "Well, I'm the Big Gun, don'tcha know."

"The what now?"

"It's a name Buffy gave me one time … it doesn't matter." Willow shook her head free of another not-favorite memory. "Anyway, it's a good fight and what else am I gonna do? Work for some multi-national corporation in Silicone Valley, pulling in the big bucks …"

Faith picked up the scenario, eyebrows raised in wry amusement. "Penthouse apartment, real vacation-time in places I can't even spell, all-you-can-eat pussy for the big executive. Yeah, I can see where your life would suck."

Willow quickly swallowed her mouthful of beer before she could choke on it. But, it didn't stop her spluttering for a good few seconds before she finally managed a strangled, squeaky response: "What?!"

"Sorry." The apology was as remorseful as anything not even remotely apologetic could be. Instead, the huge grin Faith was wearing made it clear her amusement had increased roughly ten-fold.

Willow started to glare, but the other woman's childish glee was hard to treat with so stern a rebuke. She settled for a semi-serious half-scowl. "Blatant attempts to make me blush aside, you probably think I should get my head examined, right?"

Faith leaned back in her seat. "Shrinking heads? Way overrated. We've all got our demons … no pun and all." She pointed her bottle again. "World's just lucky a chick like you's in for the good fight."

"A chick like me?"

"You know, hot chick with superpowers?" The Slayer's mouth curved up in obvious good humor. "'Course, I include myself in that particular Hall of Fame."

Willow would have replied with an appropriately deadpan rejoinder, but her thoughts were lagging a few paces behind: Did Faith just call her hot?

Picking up her beer, she noted with an almost detached sense of curiosity that it was nearly finished. She caught the attention of one of the bartenders and signaled for two more of the same. Then realized she hadn't bothered to check with the other woman. Who, she was also aware, she hadn't made any eye contact with for the past ten or fifteen seconds.

She directed her gaze back across the table. "Sorry, I should have asked. Maybe you don't want to stay or —"

"No worries." Faith finished off her beer as fresh bottles were set down. When the bartender returned to the counter, she shrugged. "It doesn't always got to be about Buffy."

Willow smiled hesitantly, struck by uncertainty and an odd sort of anxiety, as if she were missing out on a joke that everyone but her – which, at this moment in time, meant Faith – knew the punchline to.

The Slayer clarified the remark: "You and me? Just hangin' out over a couple beers?"

Willow's smile adjusted itself into something a little more assured and the slightly off-balance sensation settled down. "Yeah, it's —"

"But, don't take too long finishin' up – we've got other places to go." Faith glanced at her watch.

Willow blinked, the not-quite-sure feeling returning with a vengeance. Hanging out with Faith was starting to feel a lot like hanging onto the end of a yo-yo.

The other woman simply smiled as she downed her drink. "Come on, it'll be fun."

* * *

"You're not gonna try and fix me up again, are you?"

"Nah, I promised, didn't I?" The Slayer twisted in her seat, directing a casual eye around the club before turning back to her with a shrug. "Not much goin' on anyways. You're already with the hottest chick here."

Willow started to roll her eyes, but ended up following the route the Slayer's gaze had taken instead. Faith's tendency for unashamed self-promotion aside, she wasn't exactly wrong. She wondered if lesbians got points for having good looking friends.

_("Yeah, it's no big deal. I mean, they've got superpowers too.")_

"What's so funny?" Faith was eyeing her, curious.

"Nothing. Just checkin' things out."

The Slayer looked thoughtful, her fingers tapping against the edge of the table they'd managed to snag near the stairway. Close enough to the action so they weren't out of the loop, but far away enough so they didn't have to yell. Finally, she leaned across the table a little, a couple of teeth sinking into her lower lip. Guilt – or something close to it.

"When we were here last time, B … she had her eye on some chick she thought you'd like. I don't know what woulda happened – don't even know if she swung in your direction – but, she was a nice girl. I mean, she looked nice."

"Oh."

The Slayer sighed. "And, the Chosen One's contribution notwithstanding, I fucked it up with that … shit, I dunno … that Holy Grail chick."

"_Holy Grail?_" Willow giggled, although she wasn't exactly sure if she was laughing at the moniker or at Faith's verging-on-tragic countenance.

The other woman shrugged, a small grin sneaking through. "Yeah, you know, pretty much a dyke's wet dream, right?"

Willow shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I know Buffy wanted to do something nice – more than nice – and I really appreciate her lookin' out for me. I've missed that. But, it's … I don't need a girlfriend. I mean, not right now."

Faith studied her for a moment, then, finally she nodded. "Yeah, I can dig that."

Willow took a sip from her beer, wondered why they called it _Dutch_ Courage. She sat up straight, squared her shoulders. "Do you miss him? Robin?"

The Slayer's eyes narrowed with caution. "Uh … some, I guess. Nothin' heavy. He was a nice guy to have around."

Willow winced and Faith shook her head.

"No, not like that. I liked the guy, that's all I meant. Another new thing I'm tryin' – don't just use 'em, try not to abuse 'em." She grinned. "I mean, he _was _a good ride, but, I don't suppose you're interested in that part."

"Not really." Willow started to frown, but the expression didn't get very far. "Oh, but, not just 'cause he's a guy. I mean, it's good he was, you know ... good, but I still wouldn't want a blow-by-blow ..." A sudden heat rose on her cheeks and she trailed off with a grimace.

Amusement and feigned surprise showed up in the form of a smirk-with-raised-eyebrow combo. "I wasn't gonna give you a blow-by-blow anything."

The frown made an appearance after all. Once again, not _entirely_ serious; there was a good chance she probably resembled a cantankerous school marm more than anything. "Do you make these things up beforehand, or do they just come to you? I mean, really, I worry about what's going on in your —" Willow stopped, the admonishment suddenly forgotten about. "Oh, hey – telepathy!"

Faith's brow creased. "Huh?"

"I … we … it's something we do. Not a lot these days, but it's useful sometimes."

The Slayer nodded, catching on. "Right. Yeah, I heard about that. Pretty powerful stuff."

Willow grinned. "I could teach you."

Leaning back a little, Faith barely even seemed to consider the suggestion before replying with a shake of her head. "I don't think so."

"Why not? It wouldn't take long. Just a couple of —"

"You don't need to know what's goin' on in my mind, Willow."

Willow exchanged the grin for a softer smile. "It doesn't work like that. It's not like you just overhear things. The other person has to want —"

"Listen, last thing I want's for some kinda mindjack to hit while I'm peeing or checkin' out some dude's ass. Some things are kinda private."

Petulance took hold. "Those aren't exactly the kinda circumstances it's useful for."

"Just drop it, willya?"

"Are you scared?"

Faith looked at her. "No. I just don't see why we gotta start messin' around with this."

"With what?"

The Slayer waggled a finger back and forth between them. "This. You got something to say, just say it. You don't have to go all Obi-Wan Kenobi on me."

Willow giggled, despite the flash of annoyance she couldn't quite put her finger on the reason for. "_Obi-Wan Kenobi?_"

A grin lurked beneath the Slayer's otherwise irritated expression. "Whatever."

Willow stood up. She'd had three and a half beers by now and while, these days, she was old enough for it not to play swimmy-woozy games with her head, the buzz was a definite contributor.

"Dance with me."

Faith looked at Willow's extended hand, then at Willow herself. "With you?"

Not the kind of disbelief that might have greeted her if she'd ever summoned up the courage to ask anyone to dance in high school. Instead, the surprise made Willow smile. "No, with my loser cousin from … Geekville or wherever." Which should perhaps have hit a _little _too close to home, but she pictured Faith's deadpan expression and Buffy's familiar annoyance and smiled wider.

The Slayer shrugged. "Okay, but, I'm not so used to not-so-fast."

Willow's mouth dropped open a fraction. She hadn't even noticed the song had changed. Not really. Although her short-term subconscious was telling her that the music had slowed down just before she decided to get her dance on.

Her confidence started to retreat. "We can wait, I mean, if you —"

"Nah, s'okay. Just warnin' ya." Faith hopped from her stool and, while she didn't take the hand Willow suddenly realized was still extended, she swept her own arm toward the dancefloor with a smile and a tilt of her head: _lead the way_.

Willow put a small protection spell around her purse to keep sticky fingers at bay – not frivolous, but practical; Tara would approve, she was sure – and they headed to the dancefloor. A few seconds of awkwardness while they figured out whose hands went where, but, her arms found themselves resting comfortably on the Slayer's shoulders, Faith's hands slid easily around her waist, and it felt right.

Or it would have, but Faith's shoulders were tense, and her fingers were stiff against Willow's back. Questionable linguistic habits aside, Willow was more than certain Faith really _didn't_ give a crap, and it wasn't hard to figure out the reason for her discomfort: Willow craved closeness – she liked snuggling and nuzzling and hugging; Faith treated intimacy with suspicion and doubt, unless it was naked and accompanied by orgasms, or maybe even especially so under those circumstances, at least before Robin.

Willow smiled, eager to put the other woman at ease. She kept her voice light: "You weren't kiddin' about the not-so-fast."

"Huh?" Faith's eyes met her own for a brief moment and the Slayer let go of a shaky laugh. "Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry."

Willow cringed inwardly at the apology, almost decided to put an end to the other woman's embarrassment by suggesting more beer, or faking a necessary bathroom visit, or even throwing herself onto the floor and pretending to break her leg. But, awkwardness apart, it still felt kind of nice and she was reluctant to let the chance for this kind of contact go. She tried again: "You know, I haven't done this for a long time myself …"

Faith lifted an eyebrow. "Kennedy not take you out on the town?"

"Oh, a few times, yeah." Willow nodded. "But, we never got round to this. Dancing, I mean. And once she started globe-trotting, not a lot of opportunity. I'm not complaining. It's just the way things worked out." She smiled. "Or not."

The Slayer shrugged, still a little awkward, but the tension was beginning to lift. Willow felt the hands on her lower back relax too. Idle conversation, even if it _was_ about her recent failed relationship, seemed to be doing the trick.

Faith cleared her throat. "You ever dance with B like this?"

"Not so much. Not at all, really."

Faith simply nodded and, for a second, Willow wondered if the Slayer was only doing this so she could score points against Buffy. Some stupid _I've got more dyke credentials than you_ thing. The concern must have shown on her face, because Faith grinned.

"I'm only askin', 'cause you said it was a long time. That's all."

Willow returned the smile as strong hands shifted again, drawing her closer, holding her with a gentleness that would have surprised her until just a few days ago, maybe longer. She breathed in color-fast detergent and clean-smelling deodorant – something sporty – and Willow knew it was something she probably _shouldn't_ do, but her arms moved to surround the Slayer's back and, before she could tell herself for certain it was a lousy idea, she rested her head against the other woman's shoulder.

She waited for the soft, strong body against her own to harden like rock. For a disbelieving _what the fuck_. For Faith to wrench them apart, not necessarily violently, but with a firmness that made it clear Willow had overstepped her mark. Instead, she heard a low chuckle and felt the Slayer's hands adjust once more to accommodate the new closeness.

"You okay there?"

Willow nodded against the cotton of Faith's shirt, closed her eyes, listened as the music seemed to dissolve into the background, replaced by the steady rise and fall of the other woman's chest, the almost painfully slow rhythm of a heart she'd once suspected might be non-existent. Warm and soft and like magic, _the only thing she was good for, the only thing she had going for her, the moments …_

All of a sudden, she felt Faith ease her away and she blinked. Wet lashes fluttered against her cheeks and she shook her head, groggy almost, like she was just waking up.

"Willow?"

The music had changed again; when, she wasn't sure. Willow gathered herself quickly, grateful for the pulsing colored lights that didn't stay in one place for too long. She directed a smile at the Slayer, hoped the damp hadn't reached the other woman's shoulder, fingers crossed she didn't waste sixteen bucks on waterproof mascara at the mall last week.

"Think you zoned out there for a bit." Faith's own mouth curved up at the corners. "You feelin' okay?"

Willow dug deeper for a bigger, wider smile. "Yeah, fine. Everything's good. Hunky dory, in fact."

But, Faith was no slouch when it came to reading other people's pain. The sudden, stupid, erroneous thought of trying to pull the wool over the _wolf's_ eyes made Willow laugh.

The Slayer studied her uneasily. "Okay …"

Willow shook her head, waited to collect herself again before she spoke. She drew a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry. It's just, it's —"

"Yeah, I know." Another smile, hesitant and reassuring both, eyes heavy with a dozen things Faith wasn't supposed to be capable of. "It's been a long time."

A genuine smile showed up on Willow's face then of its own accord, the hand the Slayer now placed on her back serving a more practical purpose, guiding her through the tangle of clumsy feet and careless elbows around them.

"C'mon, it's gettin' late – we should probably be headin' back now anyways."

It was only when their tab was paid and they headed outside to the parking lot that Willow realized three things:

One – they hadn't talked once all evening about the critically important and potentially quite scary issue concerning the possibility that she might go evil again and want to kill people and end the world.

Two – she didn't really mind that they hadn't talked about it.

And three – somehow, it didn't feel so critically important and potentially quite scary anymore.

* * *

"We don't have to do this."

"No, I want to do it." Willow adjusted the waistband of her sweatpants, folding it over a couple of times. Dawn's sweatpants, since she didn't own any; hence the adjustment, so she wouldn't trip over the legs.

"You sure?"

Willow smiled. "It's like I said, I was just thinkin' – the whole knowledge and power thingy you were talkin' about yesterday? Could be useful."

She poked at the edge of the gym mat with the toe of her sneakers – springy – then flexed her fingers, aware of the buzz of anticipation starting to stir inside of her. The kind of pre-rush she was only ever able to associate with incalculable power and the pride that came with having it at her disposal. Mostly tempered these days with another, different, kind of charge: her awareness of (the pleasure she took in) the fact that there were things she _could_ do but that she chose not to.

She supposed the world really _was_ lucky a chick like her was in it for the good fight.

But, this afternoon, her main not-choice was a fairly innocuous one – where she chose not to let the day go by without giving Faith a little … payback.

Of the good kind.

The Slayer frowned. "Okay, but, you're not gonna do some energy-sucking thing, are ya? 'Cause that's the kinda deal you gotta ask before you can get."

Willow's mind flashed to Kennedy's fear and hurt following the portal spell; the first real inkling the younger woman had had that her girlfriend's reluctance to embrace the magic wasn't simply down to worrying about a potentially unflattering hair-color.

She looked at the other woman, watched her bounce a little on the balls of her feet, flexing her own reverse-steepled fingers with a quiet crack.

Once upon a time, Faith would have kicked Willow's ass up and down the hallway if she'd done that to her. Now, Willow wasn't so sure. Reformed-Faith might have just shrugged it off that night, or even taken some kind of philosophical lesson from it; but, there remained an underlying sense that if you pushed hard enough, or even just caught her at a bad time, the Slayer would tear your head off before you could even attempt an apology or explanation for that kind of violation.

Willow shook her head. "Nope, no life-sucking. I'm not gonna use any magic on you at all. No need."

Faith tilted an eyebrow and Willow smiled.

"Just watch."

There was a part of her wondered why she was making the effort when she could do the very same thing without a big display, but, Willow put the thought aside. Lowering her head, she concentrated on the energy now crackling between her fingertips as she turned them inward and let the power make its cyclical journey in full show of the other woman, a demonstration that left her both exposed and totally in control, something to do with the thrill of manipulation, of holding someone in thrall.

Blood began pumping furiously through her veins, hot and thick. Then that familiar sense of too much energy but not enough, of feeling stronger yet never weaker, of being hyper-aware but not exactly sure what was real, of time simultaneously stretching out and contracting into a mere instant. She felt it then: her eyes darkening, the viscous presence like hot liquid tarmac behind her eyeballs as she focused on maintaining the balance between what she wanted to do and what she was capable of.

Willow raised her head again. "Okay. Ready now."

While she was prepared for the look of wonder on the other woman's face, what she hadn't anticipated was the sheer intensity of the fascination she saw in Faith's own eyes. But, there was no fear, no indication of concern for the world's safety. Instead, the Slayer smiled although, when she spoke, the question came across as authentic, not a joke:

"Isn't your hair supposed to change too?"

For a moment, Willow considered fudging the issue, wondered if Faith could handle it. But, the Slayer's greatest insecurities had never been about other people's physical power alone; Faith's biggest fears were about the less tangible power – real or imagined – to screw her over, to hurt her in a way that didn't leave bruises. It didn't, however, mean she was without pride. But, better to be honest now, surely, than for her to find out later.

"If I was goin' full-strength, yeah."

Faith looked very nearly startled. "You're holdin' back?"

"Just a little." The urge to reassure kicked in. "But, it's nothing to do with —"

"I could really hurt you."

Willow smiled at the Slayer's concern. "You're not gonna hurt me."

Faith's expression turned doubtful. "You_ sure_ you're not gonna use magic on me?"

The sound, thick and smooth, rose in Willow's throat from somewhere deeper than she was accustomed. The pitch was foreign to her ears, but not the words themselves, and not the sensation that was humming through every nerve like electricity:

"No, Faith – I _am_ the magic."

The other woman studied her for a good long while, head tilted, brow creased. Then, with a heavy sigh, Faith shrugged. "Okay, but, don't say I didn't warn ya."

* * *

Hands resting on her knees, Willow peered down at the not-quite-unmoving figure hunched over on the mat, heard Faith's breath come in short, ragged bursts.

"Are you okay?"

The Slayer didn't say anything for at least another half-minute, and her head was still bowed when, finally, she emitted a guttural snort.

Willow flinched at the sound, worried she might actually have caused some real damage. She hadn't hit her _that_ hard, surely? Not that last time anyway.

Faith raised her head, wiped the heavy crimson drool from her mouth with the back of her hand as she staggered to her feet. Her voice was raspy:

"I'll live, but, next time? How 'bout you just say somethin' like, _Thank you, Faith, I had a fab time last night_."

Willow grimaced, embarrassment and remorse coloring her own – injury-free –features. She made a quick mental note: _Quit trying to pull _anything_ over this chick's eyes_. Faith might have little interest in manipulation and deception nowadays, but there was a time she'd practically re-written the book on 'sneaky'.

Willow opened her mouth to apologize, but the Slayer shook her head.

"Don't worry about it. I probably shouldn't have made such a big deal in the first place." Faith ran the pads of her fingers gingerly over the welt on her jaw, the corner of her mouth twitching in obvious amusement.

"What?" said Willow.

With a bloodstained grin, Faith looked straight at her, tiny glimmers like pinpricks of light shining through the dark of her eyes. "Fucking magic, eh?"

Willow blinked and thought about doorstops.


	18. Thirteen: Shine a Light

**THIRTEEN: SHINE A LIGHT**

Sunday nights were the last gasp. The last chance to cram as much good reading as possible into the weekend before schoolwork took up the next five days. Not that Dawn minded schoolwork. She _liked_ schoolwork. You could never learn enough, good grades still gave her a buzz, and some of her teachers were cool. But, compared to the almost visceral pleasure she took from reading ancient languages etched in beautiful, faded script on centuries-old wood-pulp and hemp fiber, running her fingers over cracked, bound leather and then the pages themselves ... well, there was no comparison, really.

It was just a pity the author of this particular work, a 15th Century Sanskrit text supposed to inform the reader of rituals performed two hundred years before to ward off 'unwelcome apparitions', seemed to have gone off on a long tangent about ... cow tracks?

With a silent sigh, Dawn glanced further up the table in the library, where Willow and Faith were discussing the whereabouts of a possible new Slayer; or the new Slayer's possible whereabouts, since it was unlikely Willow's Slayer-locator had started identifying people or things that weren't Slayers.

They were standing at the end of the table, leaning over a map. Willow's laptop was opened up and set at a slight angle just over the edge of the table-wide diagram. Bottom lip sticking out in contemplation, Willow squinted back and forth between the computer screen and the map, while Faith was wearing a puzzled sort-of sneer. There was a box of juice on the table that, every so often, the Slayer would reach for absently, take a sip from, and then, just as absently, put back on the table. Dawn winced as a tiny drop of juice appeared at the top of the straw and trickled down to the box itself, suddenly struck by the image of a river of juice rapidly making its way down to the other end of the table, destroying everything in its sticky path. She pushed her chair back a bit and slid the six hundred year old book from the top of the table and balanced it on her lap.

All of a sudden feeling strangely endeared toward long, tedious ruminations about cow tracks, Dawn returned to her reading.

* * *

"But Iceland's not that big, is it? The population, I mean."

"Hmm, about ... um ... three hundred thousand?"

"Shit, Willow, there's no way that's _another_ one then ..."

Yay for illustrations, even if the 'apparitions' looked a little like those troll dolls with brightly-colored hair – all stumpy legs, big eyes and squished noses, although Dawn couldn't tell what color the hair was from the monochrome drawing.

"Oh, wait. Yeah, it's probably _not_ another one ..."

"What d'you — oh, right, you mean it's a Slayer from someplace _else_."

"Yeah ... yeah, I think so."

"Thought they were supposed to tell us when they were movin' around."

"They are. It looks like this is one we just haven't tracked down yet."

Dawn turned the page. Then turned it back again. She leafed quickly through the rest of the book. That was it? One page?

"So, what the hell's she doin' in Iceland?"

"Um, I'm not sure. Maybe she's ... I don't know ... visiting a relative or something?"

Faith snorted. "What, you mean she wakes up one morning, full of all that power she wanted, ready to kick ass and save the world and thinks, _I'll just go see how grandma's doin'_? Jesus …"

Willow giggled. "It could happen."

Six pages of cow tracks and one lousy page of illustrations. What was this guy thinking? She assumed it was a guy. Obsessing over cow tracks seemed like a guy kinda thing. Which wasn't a judgment; just an observation based on the kinds of things guys seemed to get obsessed over. Not that she'd ever _met_ any guys who seemed that interested in cow tracks ...

"So, we gotta find out which one she is, right? How long's that gonna take?"

"Not too long 'cause, see, if we cross-check the most recent search with the last one ..."

Dawn looked up as they leaned over the table a little further while Willow moved the laptop mouse. Faith looked less confused and Willow's lower lip was back in place. Only now Willow's eyes were doing a little sidelong glance thing, like she was checking that Faith was able to keep up with what they were doing. In fact, she was so busy checking what Faith was doing, she was hardly looking at the screen at all. Dawn shook her head. Jeez, over-cautious much? Faith could probably read a simple search display.

The Slayer reached out and tapped the screen lightly. "New Zealand."

Willow cleared her throat and looked at where Faith's finger was pointing. "Uh, yeah, looks like it. We should let Giles know. About that."

Dawn went back to her book. See? Simple.

* * *

_Blah, blah ... wailing and moaning ... blah, blah ... casting bones ..._

God, this book sucked. It hadn't told her anything useful. When the guy finally got round to the 'rituals', it was just a bunch of anecdotes about what some people's ancestors _claimed_ to have done, with huge chunks of detail missing. The writer should get sued for false advertising … even if there was no blurb on the back and he'd been dead for six hundred years.

But, she wanted to finish it. It was too late to start something new and she was determined to get _something_ out of it.

And at least there hadn't been any more mention of cow tracks.

"... and she says, _I think he's got it in for me_. I mean, like, yeah, it's a friggin' demon. What did she expect? An invitation for tea?"

"Well, it's gotta be a bit strange at first. When I saw my first vamp, I was terrified."

"Yeah, but you knew you _should_ be terrified. This newbie was just, like, _why's he picking on me?_" Faith put on a whiny voice.

"That's mean," said Willow. But, she was laughing.

They were drinking coffee now. They'd fetched some just before Willow emailed Giles with the information about the wandering Kiwi, then they'd cleared the map from the table and pulled up a couple of chairs. Dawn eyed Faith's mug warily as the Slayer set it down on the tabletop. A box of juice was one thing, but an uncovered coffee mug was just asking for trouble. Willow wasn't doing much better. She kept bumping the back of her hand against hers whenever she went to pick it up. Maybe if she actually bothered to look at the thing when she reached for it, she wouldn't keep missing the handle.

Dawn turned the page. Oh, great. The return of the cow tracks. This guy was a total weirdo. Or maybe cow tracks had been the 'in thing' back in the 15th century. Doubtful, though, since the book didn't have anything about cow tracks on the cover. It was more likely he'd just wanted to write a book about cow tracks and the book binder had told him there was no market for it, so he'd snuck it into something that was _supposed_ to be more interesting. That would explain the sketchy 'ritual' stuff.

"... but, she's a good fighter. They're all pretty good."

"Yeah, I've been checking them out —" Willow groaned. "No, not _that_ kinda ... jeez."

Dawn glanced up. Faith was snorting into her coffee. Ew.

She lowered her eyes to the page in front of her again.

"Hey, not sayin' a word. Anyhow, I was gonna talk to B about mixin' it up a little, maybe swap some of 'em around for a couple shifts ..."

Dawn looked up again. That was a first. She'd expected Faith to drag the innuendo out for at least the next five minutes. But, no, now Faith was talking about how it might improve the girls' all-round performances if they could see the other team in the field.

Maybe all that time she'd spent helping Willow with the research stuff that evening had put her in Mission-chick mode.

Or maybe it was out of respect because it was a Sunday.

Dawn frowned. This book was frying her brain.

* * *

The final chapter.

If it was supposed to be a conclusion, she wasn't quite sure what it was concluding. Whatever it was, the 'unwelcome apparitions' apparently weren't welcome in it. Although, thankfully, neither were the cow tracks. Instead, the guy was randomly quoting pieces of Hindu philosophy about marriage ceremonies.

Dawn sighed. She wondered if it was wrong to advocate _justifiably_ selective book-burning.

"Nah, it didn't hurt."

"You're just sayin' that. I bet you couldn't touch it for a week."

"No way! For ... a day. Maybe."

"So it _did_ hurt."

"No. Well, not much."

Dawn shifted in her seat. Now they were discussing Faith's tattoo. Faith was turned around in her chair a little and Willow was leaning forward, studying the Slayer's arm like it was the most fascinating thing in the world _ever_.

She hoped Willow wasn't thinking about getting a tattoo. Not one like that anyway.

"Does it ... um ... feel different? I mean, do you know it's there?"

"No. Well, I know it's there, yeah, but I can't feel it. I mean, I can feel my arm where the inkwork is. You know, if someone touches it ..." Faith trailed off and coughed and reached for her coffee cup, while Willow blinked a couple of times and sat up straight again.

Dawn turned her attention back to the text. It was just a tattoo. Who cared what it felt like? She bit her lip. Okay, that was a little bitchy. Asking questions about tattoos was a perfectly valid thing to do. She was just mad at the book.

"I should be going now." Willow scraped back her chair. "I've got stuff ... you know ... to do."

"Yeah, sure."

"You okay there, Dawnie?"

Dawn looked up. "Huh? Yeah, fine. Almost finished."

"Any good?"

Dawn made a face. "If you like deep and meaningful observations about cow tracks."

Willow smiled. "I might skip that one." She turned to Faith, who was leaning back in her chair, swirling the – probably cold – remains of her coffee around in her cup. "And, hey, thanks for the help with the locator thingy."

"Anytime ... so long as it's a Sunday night when I've got nothin' better to do."

Willow looked deflated. "Oh, I didn't —"

"That was a joke."

Dawn raised an eyebrow. Yeah, right.

"Oh. Okay." Willow smiled again as she packed up her laptop and picked up her own empty coffee cup. "Well, see you both in the morning, I guess. Don't stay up too late, Dawn."

"I won't."

Faith gave Willow a nod and a quick smile. "Yeah, see ya tomorrow."

Willow turned to leave, while Dawn glanced back down at the book on her lap. Just the thought of reading any more was giving her a headache. She put the text on the table and closed the cover. What a total waste of an evening and now she'd probably have to wait five whole days before she could find something else to —

Dawn's eyes widened.

Was Faith checking out Willow's ... She totally was!

Oh my God.

And could she _be_ any more obvious?


	19. Fourteen: Let's Spend (Some Time)

**FOURTEEN: LET'S SPEND (SOME TIME) TOGETHER**

"Oh, hey, you want a cookie?"

Faith looked at her from her seat on the driver's side of Willow's car. "You brought cookies?"

Willow nodded. "Uh-huh."

The Slayer frowned. "You got the whole recon thing, right? You know, with the _it's-not-a-picnic_ part and all?"

Willow nodded again. "Well, on TV they always bring a flask and stuff when they're on a stakeout."

"Yeah, but we already established they usually bring coffee, not chocolate and marshmallows."

"You had some, didn't you? So, d'you want a cookie or not?" She shook the box lightly and tilted it toward the Slayer. "They're full of cookie goodness."

Faith looked at the container, then looked at Willow. A weary sigh followed. "Okay, then, gimme a cookie."

* * *

Willow studied the dashboard clock and checked it against her watch. They'd been sitting in the car for over an hour now, waiting for _any_ sign of the demons Buffy and Faith had been given a tip-off about the other night on one of their regular demon-bar information trawls.

According to the vampire informant (codename: Lugosi – he was 'the best one' apparently, since he got buried in a cape), these particular demons had moved to the area with the sole intention of causing as much mayhem as possible. The two Slayers had checked out the cave he told them about and, while there was some evidence of recent activity – an extinguished fire and some beer cans (Willow hoped it wasn't the demon bikers again) – the demons themselves were nowhere to be seen.

Hence the reconnaissance.

Faith and Buffy flipped a coin for stakeout duties. Faith lost and, since Buffy said she should probably take some back up and Willow didn't like the thought of anyone sitting out in the desert all alone, she'd offered to accompany Faith while Buffy pulled a double patrol with the newbies.

Dawn had said, "Um ... remember there's a blanket on the back seat. You might need it." Then she smirked and Faith said, "What the hell's so funny?" and Dawn coughed and said, "Nothing. You know, I just thought it might get cold or something," but she was still smirking.

But, Willow thought that Dawn perhaps had a point and that's when she decided to take some hot chocolate along since Faith probably _would_ rather freeze to death than admit she might need to wrap herself in a blanket to combat something as wussy as a nighttime desert temperature drop. Willow could use the blanket herself if she needed to. And she would take her lined parka with her too.

Which had been a pretty sensible idea, she thought. Only now she was too hot.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking off my coat."

"You gonna ditch the scarf too?"

Willow flashed an irritated grimace. "Trying to, which would explain the whole choking-myself-to-death thing."

"Here ..." Faith reached over and, digging her fingers into the knot, gently tugged the tightened loop free.

"Thanks." Willow pulled the scarf from around her neck, then took off her jacket and threw the items onto the back seat. On top of the blanket she probably wouldn't need now either.

"Better?"

"Yeah ... thanks." Willow sat up a little.

"Maybe I shoulda warned you it was just the edge of the desert," Faith said. The headlights from a car passing on the highway shifted across the gap in the rocks they were parked behind.

"Yeah, maybe."

They sat in silence for a minute or two. Then Faith tilted her seat back a little, then brought it forward again. Then she reached over her shoulders and adjusted the headrest, then shifted a couple of times in her seat and began to tap her fingers against her thigh. Finally, she sighed and folded her arms across her chest.

"Do you need a cigarette?"

The Slayer looked at her. "Not until you said that, no."

Willow frowned. "I was just gonna say I think I've got some tic-tacs in my bag, if that would help."

She found herself on the receiving end of an acerbically-raised eyebrow. "You've never smoked one cigarette your whole life, have ya?"

Willow tutted and rolled her eyes. "Well, why don't you go outside?"

"Or we could just flash the headlights and turn up the radio real loud so any approaching demons know we're here."

"Or you could be not-sarcastic about it and have another cookie."

Faith stared out the driver's side window for at least a count of ten then, finally, released a long breath and held out her hand. "Fine, gimme another one."

* * *

Slouched down in her seat, Willow gazed up at the nighttime sky. Cloudless and starry, the kind of night when it felt like whatever was out there was a little closer to them all. The kind of night when she was sure that they were being watched over.

She liked to think she was never alone. Not really. But, she'd felt alone sometimes. Other times, she was certain – she would bet her life on it – that Tara was with her again, that somehow, she was touching base with her, just to let her know things were going to be okay. Like during the Slayer spell, when all that pure, glorious energy began to build up in the scythe and course back through her and, for a few seconds – although it had seemed more like some skewed version of eternity at the time – everything seemed to fall away and she lost the ability to think or move or to see or hear; instead all she could do was feel the blinding hot light envelope and enter her, reaching every part it seemed, before exploding and bringing her back to earth with the sensation of something beautiful and majestic having occurred. And she knew where the strength to draw the purest part of that energy had come from.

She looked at Faith, arms folded, eyes fixed intently in the direction of the cave. The agitated restlessness was gone now and, not for the first time, Willow was fascinated by the change; wondered how someone so full of nervous energy managed to be so quiet and still other times. She didn't find it _strange_ – Faith wasn't the only one with control issues – but there was a part of her remained surprised that the Slayer, of all people, was so good at it.

"Do you ever look at the stars?" Willow asked.

Faith shrugged. "Sometimes, sure."

"Do you have names for the constellations or anything?"

"Uh, no, I don't think so. They just look nice, I guess."

"Well, if you had to give, say, _that_ one a name, what would you call it?"

With an impatient sigh, Faith squinted through the windshield in the direction Willow was pointing. She shrugged again. "I dunno ... Blind Dogs Fucking?"

Willow wanted to be angry that such a stupid, profane answer had encroached upon something so ... sacred. But, she found herself holding back a smile instead.

"Is that all you —"

"Hold it." Faith sat up and peered through the windshield, grabbing the night-vision binoculars from the top of the dashboard. She held them in place, teeth biting into her lower lip in concentration.

Willow followed her gaze, seeing headlights in the distance get larger as four vehicles approached the cave from the opposite direction. Once they reached their destination, the lights went out and, a couple of seconds later, about a dozen or so shadowy figures tumbled out onto the dirt.

Faith was fiddling with the lens focus. "Right, let's get a good ... uh ... what the fuck?"

"What's wrong?"

The Slayer sighed and handed the glasses to Willow. "Take a look."

Willow held the binoculars to her eyes. She frowned. "But, those are ... teenagers. With beer."

"Yep."

Willow lowered the glasses just as some music, presumably from a ghetto blaster, started echoing from inside the cave. "We've been staking out a desert-cave kegger?"

"Looks like it." Faith began drumming her fingers irritably against the steering wheel. "Bela Lugosi better get his fuckin' cape ready if he wants to be wearin' it when I dust him."

Returning the binoculars to the dashboard, Willow sat back in her seat. It was almost eleven o'clock, which meant they'd been sitting in the car for nearly three hours. She eyed Faith nervously, expecting to see one of those dark, grim scowls of the 'demon's worst nightmare' kind. Or at least a pissed-off sneer. Instead, the corner of the Slayer's mouth was curved upward; not enough to be counted as a smile exactly, but there was evidence of at least a small degree of humor in the expression.

Relieved, Willow picked up the almost-empty vacuum flask at her feet and checked that the lid was on properly. "Well, hey, we got to eat cookies and you managed not to smoke for a few hours and —"

"Dawn thinks we're screwing."

The flask dropped to the floor again with a dull thump. "What?"

Faith looked at her. "Dawn thinks —"

"No, I heard what you said. I mean, what ... why does she think that?"

The Slayer stretched a little, rotating her shoulder. "Beats me. I mean, it's not like you're into chicks and I'm _way_ hot ..."

"I'm serious."

Faith didn't say anything for a moment, then she shrugged. "Maybe she just figures one of us finally made a move."

"What does that mean?" Willow had meant to sound outraged. And if she couldn't manage that, then 'shocked' would have done. Even 'mildly surprised' at a push. Instead, the question-come-exclamation sounded half-hearted and perfunctory at best.

And went unanswered. At least verbally.

On a practical level, she was kind of glad the flask was back on the floor, since it saved her having to interrupt what was happening so she could put it out of harm's way in case it got cracked. Instead, she was safe in the knowledge that the container would survive undamaged – to be used for many more excursions to come – as Faith suddenly leaned all the way across the seats and Willow, her back pushed against the door, was being kissed by someone who tasted of chocolate and marshmallows with an underlying hint of stale tobacco and didn't she read somewhere that Native Americans used to smoke chocolate, though she was pretty sure Faith didn't come from Native American stock and … that really wasn't the point, was it? No, the point _was_ ... (and she knew there _was_ a point) ... the point _was,_ she was being kissed by someone who'd once threatened her with deep pain ... who'd tried to steal her best friend in high school ... who'd slept with Xander and tried to strangle him ... who'd been mean to Tara while pretending to be Buffy ... who'd made Buffy's life a living hell on several occasions ...

All years ago, of course. Sunnydale years ago too. _Our lives are different than other people's_, she remembered Oz saying once. Oz, her boyfriend, who turned into a wolf three nights a month and who left her after he slept with and killed another werewolf. Yep, different than other people's lives for sure. And somewhere, some place where people's lives _weren't_ different, some girl was probably being kissed by an erstwhile-enemy-now-sort-of-friend whom she should hate because said friend once borrowed her best shoes without asking or fell out with her one time over some dumb guy. It was all relative and, somehow, the litany of reasons that had just scurried across her mind as to why what was happening should be a _bad thing_ seemed sort of ... petty almost.

On another practical level, she was glad too that she'd gotten rid of the jacket and scarf earlier, since bulky outerwear probably would've reduced the impact of being kissed by someone whose hands were _that_ warm ... someone who was still sort of skanky, but in a different way than before (probably a prison thing – keepin' it real or something) ... whose ill-judged attempts to cheer her up by buying her porn and telling stupid verging-on-offensive jokes were maybe sort of endearing if you thought about it hard enough ... who, when she smiled for real, had the cutest dimples ... who wouldn't make Willow feel guilty for not being able to return a sentiment she didn't share ... who wasn't afraid of her and who didn't have to pretend that Willow was someone better than she actually was ... who was kind of nice to be around these days, and whose warm hands were now starting to move down and —

"Ow, fuck."

Willow winced, pretty sure Faith's expletive wasn't simply an enthusiastic response to the impromptu make-out activity. "Are you okay?"

"Damn shift lever."

"Oh."

The Slayer looked at her for a moment, then cleared her throat and disentangled herself, while Willow straightened up and rubbed at a slight twinge in her neck from where the back of her head had been pressed against the window.

"You okay there?" Faith slotted the keys into the ignition.

"Uh-huh."

"You're not gonna slap me or anything?"

"Nope."

Faith pondered the answer for a few seconds. "Cool."

"So, d'you think maybe we should go home now?" Willow's brain somehow managed to score a victory over her stupid hormones, which were shrieking things like _skanky motel room!_ and _backseat! backseat!_

"Yeah, guess so. 'Cause, you know, we got all that desert to travel across before we start freezing and —"

"Oh, shut up."

With a smirk, the Slayer started the engine and turned on the headlights.

"Are you really gonna dust Mr Lugosi?" Willow pulled out her cell phone to call Buffy and let her know they were on their way home.

"Well ..." Faith glanced at her and shrugged as she pulled out onto the highway. "Maybe I'll let him off with a warning this time."

And, yeah, those dimples were the cutest.


	20. Fifteen: No Expectations

**FIFTEEN: NO EXPECTATIONS**

Technically, it would be good, she supposed. Dykes knew their way around. It was all about the pussy, after all. Plus, messin' around with a chick you knew could crush the life out of you in seconds if she wanted – no matter if you _really_ trusted her, 'cause, well, just the thought was enough – oh, that had to be a trip all by itself.

But _technically_ good wasn't always good enough these days, was it? Robin had seen to that. All his 'caring' shit had made not giving a crap just that little bit harder. Soldier Boy too even. _Nope, not gonna fuck you in the ass ... but I'll tell you I love you._

The car had been cool. Until she'd almost impaled herself on the shift lever. Kinda wished they were still in the car; the room was too big, too much space to fuck things up. But, she'd held back the impulse to suggest a motel (too much metaphorical baggage there, and Willow would've never gone for it anyhow) and she'd sort of assumed that when they got home they'd go their separate ways. But, the house had been dark and it looked like everyone had already gone to bed and they'd ended up in Willow's room and now Willow was smiling an awkward little _well-here-we-are_ smile.

"You sure?" Faith checked. Like some prissy virgin. But, there was no fucking way she was gonna take the blame for this if it came to pointing fingers later. Plus, you gotta get permission first, right?

The barest hint of amused curiosity crossed Willow's face, before a flash of uncertainty took over. "Um ..."

"It's okay. We don't have to ..." Faith started to back away, to feel for the door handle behind her. And part of her maybe even wanted to leave and go to her own room and just imagine what it might have been like, without having to deal with the reality that was actually beginning to freak her out a little.

Maybe it was going too fast. Or too slow. She wasn't sure_._ She didn't know why she was turning into a spaz about it either. Even Robin had been 'fuck first, ask questions later' and things had turned out okay there. Mostly okay. He was gonna call her tomorrow, just to catch up. She'd have taken a shower by then at least, brushed her teeth and gotten that taste out of —

Now Willow was rambling at her about something:

"No, if you want, you can stay. I mean, not that I _don't_ want, because I do, but I mean, if _you_ don't want to, then ..."

_Jesus. Do something. Do ... 'something'? Like suggest a rousing game of Monopoly? What? Okay, focus, focus, focus ..._

Faith moved away from the door again. Shut Willow up the best way she knew how.

"Is this okay?"

Christ, why the fuck was she still checking?

* * *

"It's fine. Really." Willow smiled, then tried not to flinch when Faith returned the expression. Or sort of did.

Not a _bad_ smile, but not a particularly friendly smile either.

"Yeah, 'course it is." The Slayer tightened the hold she had on the back of Willow's neck and pulled her closer.

And, suddenly, Willow was caught unawares by an image of Faith back in high school, all trashy good looks and unabashed flirtation. The kind of girl most guys she'd known back then would have given their right arms for; the kind of girl she might have spent idle time thinking about herself if she hadn't been so clueless – or jealous when Faith started hanging out with Buffy. Then there was the whole 'evil' thing too. So, she'd never gotten around to thinking about bruising kisses and rough, grasping hands in strange and new places, and it was only recently she'd actually _realized_ that, if asked (although why anyone _would_ ask, she didn't know), she'd have taken an educated guess that Faith would be confident, efficient, and ... probably a little aggressive.

Yay for educated guesses.

Maybe she should have thought this through a little better. Except she hadn't really thought it through at all. And maybe there was a part of her that was relieved, that was grateful that she didn't _have_ to think it through; that there didn't have to be first dates and coy flirting and weeks and months of the whole big leading-up-to. It was a bit late now anyway – "D'you mind if we stop groping each other and taking off our clothes so we can catch a late movie?" probably wouldn't go down well. Besides, it wasn't like they were strangers. She'd known Faith for five years, if she included the coma and jail-time.

"Want me to stop?" Faith asked, voice low and gravely with sly, somehow humorless amusement, letting her know that any other answer but 'no' might well be a waste of breath. Willow swallowed at the cold darkness in the Slayer's eyes, the carnal twist of her mouth.

Then, all of a sudden, Faith took a step back, loosened her grip, and the expression faltered. Willow blinked, a strange sort of sadness striking her at the uncertainty that appeared on the other woman's features.

As if Faith was remembering that maybe she wasn't supposed to do things like that anymore.

* * *

Faith sat down on the end of the bed and took a deep, silent breath. Smiled at Willow while she calmed herself.

"Are you okay?" Willow asked.

Faith nodded. "Yeah, just ... " She motioned for Willow to sit down beside her, let the girl take hold of her hand, buying some time. Most likely, Willow thought she was being cute or respectful or something. But, she just needed to think things through for a second.

She forced herself to look at the other woman.

"I'm not a good person," Faith said, not sure if those were the words she'd meant to say, but at that moment, it seemed like the only thing she _could_ say. "I mean, I'm tryin' to be better, but I don't know how much of that I've got to go around."

Willow gave her a soft almost-smile. "You remember who you're talkin' to?" she said. "I don't think you're a _bad_ person, anyway."

Faith nodded, relieved that Willow hadn't tried to insist that she was _good_, that she was _all_ better now; thankful too that Willow had acknowledged her own shortcomings. Wondered, though, what Willow might say if she knew about the thoughts that had been running through her mind only a minute before, thoughts that made Faith feel sick to her stomach. She'd felt the tension build up inside of her, trickling through her veins like venom. Anticipating an explosion of white-hot rage any second, she'd almost bolted then – safer for both of them.

But, things were different now. She could do this. Be nice.

So, she wasn't gonna send the Big Gun through the wall if she thought for even just a _second_ she was thinking about the B-word; or resort to tricks or cruelty, or worse, just so Willow couldn't forget who she _was_ dealing with. She wouldn't even take perverse pleasure in fucking any leftover Buffy Summers-worship out of her. And she wasn't gonna push it to see if she could get a little of that Big Bad to come out, so she could fuck a monster and not have to see the hurt in those bright, green eyes. But, maybe most of all, she wasn't gonna screw Willow just to get back at the Chosen One for never letting her be good enough, for never getting what she wanted, for everything she'd ever wanted to get back at her for.

She could do sensitive and caring and ... well, maybe that was pushing it. But, she could make it so she wouldn't hate herself later. So Willow wouldn't hate her either.

She felt the beginnings of a smile. "Maybe just a _little_ bit bad?"

And Willow smiled back.

* * *

What Willow _definitely_ hadn't thought about before was the possibility of soft kisses and gentle hands and hesitation and questioning glances. The iniquitous leer was gone and there was a different kind of darkness in Faith's eyes now, the kind that didn't serve as a warning sign to the person on the receiving end.

It was like someone had flipped a switch while they'd sat on the bed: _Set a course for Predictably Unpredictable Faith-behavior_. Still not quite Sarah McLachlan-tender, but it was in the ballpark. A pretty big ballpark, but still …

She sneaked a hand just under Faith's tee-shirt at the front. So smooth ... until she felt the ridges. The mark was about two inches long. Not too deep, but perceptible by touch. Probably by sight.

Kind of ... sexy maybe, although she said nothing, not sure how the other woman would react to being told that the wound that had only just failed to kill her and rendered her unconscious for eight months was a turn-on. She wasn't sure it was a 'sex and death' thing, 'cause _there_ was a concept that had been romanticized out of all proportion. Not too much that was sexy about someone's life draining away while you held her and begged for her life back ...

Okay, bad thoughts. Not a good time.

"What's up?" Faith asked.

Willow stilled her hand. Too late to pretend she hadn't noticed it. "Does it hurt?"

"Uh, no, not now."

Willow looked at the Slayer, who suddenly seemed as old as — not Methuselah, but somehow ancient just the same. It was like gazing at a monument where the flashy exterior meant to attract the tourists had been stripped away to reveal something etched with real history and knowledge and substance that was all the more valuable for allowing itself to be seen so rarely.

Not to take _too_ much away from the flashy surfacy stuff.

Willow bit her lip through a smile as Faith took a step back and, with one swift movement, removed her tee-shirt.

_Oh, boy._

Cleavagy Slut Bomb?

Not complaining now, was she?

* * *

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Willow should be flat on her back by now, getting fucked seven ways till Sunday, begging Faith to keep doing those nasty little things that made it hurt in all the right places, in all the right ways.

Instead, Faith could feel the mattress springs press against her own back as she dug her nails carefully into Willow's shoulders, while expert fingers worked through the slick, damp heat between her thighs. It was _almost_ too light, _almost_ not enough, _almost_ too much – and she was pretty fucking sure _that_ was on purpose.

Meanwhile, Willow was gazing down at her with one of those looks somewhere between saintly, smug, and slightly guilty. Like she'd wanted to reward Faith for a good deed – rescuing a kitten or something – but wasn't sure if finger fucking her into oblivion was the most appropriate way to do it.

Faith didn't care. Or she didn't mind. Or it bugged the hell out of her. Or it was really fucking hot. Hard to tell when she'd already changed tack about three different times before she'd found herself in the (not completely metaphorical) position of letting Willow do whatever she wanted for however long she wanted to do it. Which, even without the nastiness, was turning out to be a pretty effective obstacle to thinking properly anyway.

She exhaled another, ragged, breath – nearly a laugh – was about to make a crack along the lines of _you've done this before, right_ … stopped herself just in time when she glanced past her and saw the picture on the dresser: older, darker, more confident maybe. Happy.

And then —

_Jesus._

"Is that … am I going too —"

"No, keep doin' … yeah, like that."

The saintly/smug/guilty look returned. Dorkykindasexy, bringing with it a not-exactly-unexpected illicit thrill. Even if clothes and schoolwork weren't really an issue right now, short brightly-colored skirts, shapeless fuzzy sweaters, and nerdy _yay-for-homework_ vibes left an impression that was hard to shake. And maybe Willow was thinking about it too, about how strange or ironic or karmic it was that she was finally getting to stick it to the (fucking) cunt who, not so long ago, would have used an opportunity like this to humiliate the Number One Slayer's horny little best friend, take her down a notch or two.

But, Faith didn't think so. Willow was all growed up now, all about forgiveness and understanding, not to mention a weakness for pretty girls with nice tits that probably offset any lingering bad feelings.

She wrapped her fingers around the back of Willow's head, pulling her close. Crushed the other woman's lips against her own. And, for a sickening moment, Faith thought she might have hurt her (again). She waited for the taste of copper on her tongue, for a frightened withdrawal that would leave her empty, certain she'd fucked up.

But, she wasn't a wild thing (_thing_ – like an animal, some_thing_ not human), she _did_ know what she was doing. And Willow was already kissing her back – not fierce, but with the kind of strength that came with real power, smothering the stream of obscenities threatening to spill from Faith's mouth, as the aching tension stretched toward an almost agonizing climax.

Faith looked into eyes wide open and dark, like melted ice, listened to the word she needed to hear, whispered again and again. And with a grunt and a sigh and a nearly-_oh fuck_ that she bit down hard on her own lip to cover up, it was over.

* * *

There were no hugs. No post-coital endearments or promises. No making plans for … whatever. Not that she'd expected those things. Or even wanted them.

No, this was low maintenance 'get some and … see what happens.' A new experience, sure, but Willow was nothing if not blurry-fuzzy-line-girl. Which, of course, went a long way to explaining some of the best _and_ worst choices she'd let shape her life.

Besides, what low maintenance _did_ allow for didn't suck: feather-light fingertips drawing idle patterns along her spine and around the curve of her hip; and a wide smile and ingenuous "Christ, that was wicked-hot," that made her giggle.

And, okay, "Lemme do you now," maybe wasn't the most romantic proposition she'd ever heard, but what followed didn't exactly suck either.

In a manner of speaking.

Languid, deep kisses while Faith sat on the edge of the bed and coaxed Willow to sit astride her thighs; the Slayer's eyes traveling slowly, meaningfully southward in an almost obscene show of approval; touching Willow's breasts with a strangely satisfying inelegance, interrupted by long bouts of licking, circling and sucking with an irregular, almost careless rhythm.

And, at one point, a sleepy-eyed gaze and lopsided grin.

So like and unlike ...

Familiar _enough_ to inspire a momentary slide into wishful-thinking; complete with the requisite ache in her chest (heart) that still, sometimes, had the power to leave her breathless.

Capturing a handful of hair, Willow kept the face looking up at her from disappearing again, searched those deep, soulful eyes, gleaming with intent, for the _thing_ that made her like no other. Reassured when she saw the mess of lust, compassion, hatred, jealousy, warmth, violence, need, determination, and more; the almost-constant battle for supremacy put to rest for the time being.

The tip of Faith's tongue prodded the small laceration at the corner of her own lip, where she'd hurt herself. Trying so hard.

Willow took a breath, hoped to God she didn't blush. "You can say, you know ... certain words. I mean, if you want."

The other woman met the offer with a curious sort of half-smile, as if it might be the dumbest thing she'd ever heard, except there was no unkindness in the expression.

"I like your eyes."

Willow blinked. Okay, but ... wow.

Before she could even think of an appropriate response, a different sort of curiosity took over the other woman's gaze, this time accompanied by a wicked grin and a voice hoarse and thick – unmistakably Faith:

"How wet are ya?"

Willow _almost_ blushed then, but more urgent matters took precedence. "Um, d'you want that in metric?"

Wicked turned to ... wickeder. "Show me."

With a calm she promised to congratulate herself for later, Willow swapped unkempt hair for the Slayer's right hand, guiding it to where it was needed most. Almost sighed out loud when she felt fingers slip inside, not too deep – shallow, testing.

"Oh, fu—" Faith paused, breathed out with a little grin. "Fuck, yeah."

Encouraged, Willow pushed down – half invitation, half impatience – and was rewarded with fingers sliding effortlessly deeper and the commencement of a slow, increasingly steady rhythm; and kisses and touches that stayed gentle, but were more assured now, less tentative.

"Could you ... harder? A little harder?"

"You sure?"

Willow nodded wordlessly, biting her lip as Faith complied. An arm snaked around her waist, keeping her steady, safe.

("I'd never let her hurt you.")

Pressing her own fingers more firmly against the pliant flesh and ungiving muscle between the Slayer's shoulder blades, Willow buried her face in the other woman's neck, more faded scar tissue brushing her lips. But, no time to wonder if that particular wound was more acceptably sexy; a quiet murmur was vibrating softly against her ear – some of the words she could make out might have made her wince under different circumstances – while a more intense throb down below produced a muted groan from her own throat.

She felt the other woman shift beneath her and withdraw abruptly. But, before she could figure out why – nothing obviously _wrong_ came to mind – with an odd combination of grace and awkwardness, Faith turned them around, sliding to her knees in front of her.

No need to figure it out now. Willow looked down. "You don't have to —"

"No, just lemme ... it's cool." Another impious grin decorated the Slayer's features. "And don't worry, I won't bite."

Dark eyes settled between her thighs for a moment before meeting Willow's own gaze once again. The grin widened.

"Unless you ask nice."

Willow wanted to smile at the joke (half-joke?), but a slight case of anxiety had taken hold. She'd simply thought it might be too much, that it would make Faith feel _too_ vulnerable. _Stupid_. She should have just asked. "But, when — I mean, _I_ didn't, you know ..."

"S'okay, we got all night."

Another smile came easier then, as Willow remembered one of the reasons she liked girls.

Remembered another as Faith lowered her head and went to work.

Nope, definitely didn't suck.

In a manner of speaking.

* * *

They were exactly the same as her own upstairs. Bulk buy. They'd taken about ten of them back to the house that first week, along with some sheets and blankets and other bedclothes, and got the rest delivered.

("You opening a hotel or something?" the salesgirl asked.

"Oh, no, just a house with, you know, people," Buffy replied.)

But, the pillows still felt different. Smelled different too.

Faith exhaled a long breath. Maybe she should leave now. Willow hadn't said anything yet. Probably trying to think up a nice way of telling her she was a lousy lay, that somehow once again – despite the fact there'd been no complaints during the deed – she'd failed to change anyone's fucking world. But, damnit, keeping herself in check, trying to make sure she didn't let any of those bad thoughts come back, had taken a lot of —

"... amazing."

The voice startled her and she turned her head to look at Willow, propped up on her elbows, gazing back at her. What was amazing? The sex? Her tits? Her hair?

The other woman's face was flushed and kind of shiny-but-blurry. She leaned up and pressed her lips against Faith's – awkward, cute and hot at the same time.

And, suddenly, it didn't seem to matter.

Faith looked away again, held back a grin. Okay, maybe she shouldn't leave. There was always a chance she might bump into Buffy or Dawn or Xander, gone to the kitchen to get a drink of water or something. Not that it wouldn't be kinda fun to see the look on B's face.

_("Faith, what are you doing sneaking around at three o'clock in the morning looking like you've just had sex or something?"_

_"Oh, hi, B. Yeah, I'm just done boinking your best friend. Gonna go get some sleep now. See ya.") _

Which would be a bonus only, of course, not another potential fucked-up reason. Even with the distraction of being careful, there were enough pretty good reasons to justify it all on its own. Turned out Willow's mouth was good for more than just talking too much sometimes, and Faith hadn't even had to think about the life-crushing thing.

Now Willow was looking at her like she was waiting for something. Another kiss? A punch? One more go? And why was she looking at her shoulder?

Oh. Right.

This was new.

Faith held her arm out. "Here ..."

Okay, so now she couldn't leave even if she wanted to. Not without making a big deal. She just hoped she wouldn't get a cramp.

A minute later, Faith heard Willow murmur something.

"What's that?" The Slayer tilted her head down to listen, while the words were repeated in a quiet sigh:

"I like you, Faith."

Faith paused. _I like you?_

Something else new. _Jesus._

She looked down again, but Willow was already asleep.

* * *

She'd expected morning-after awkwardness when she first woke up. Faith would be distant or cold. Or else they'd realize what a huge mistake it had been and mumble embarrassed apologies to each other and promise never to speak of it again.

Which, sure enough, meant that Faith had to go for not-awkward-in-the-slightest.

The Slayer was squinting against the sunlight that glared through the pale, gauzy shade on the window. "Wow, that's harsh. You wake up to that every morning?"

"On nice days, yeah," Willow said, and Faith raised an eyebrow. Willow had actually meant nice weather, but she decided not to correct herself.

Well, it _had_ been nice. Not 'nice' in a bad way, like when someone cooked you some food and it wasn't great, but you didn't want to hurt their feelings so you told them – usually in a high-pitched, insistent voice – that it was _nice_ (her mind flashed guiltily to Buffy's well-meaning efforts in the kitchen). Instead, it had been 'nice' in a way like a foot massage was nice, or the smell of fresh-baked cookies was nice, or getting a present you didn't expect just because someone thought you deserved it was nice.

Plus, of course, with the orgasms.

And Faith was a surprisingly good snuggler too.

Now the Slayer was frowning. Not unusual. But, it was more pensive than scowly, which meant she was thinking about something.

Finally, Faith spoke:

"Look, I just wanna lay a couple things out for your consideration before you get too excited." The frown deepened. "I'm not sensitive-touchy-feely-lesbo chick, and I'm not some pussy-whipped kid who thinks the sun shines out your ass either. So don't be expectin' too much ..."

"Yeah, well, same here," Willow said, annoyed. "The last part, I mean," she added. "Maybe the second part too, but definitely the last —"

"Jeez, lemme finish, willya?"

"Well, could you cut to the good part?" Willow bit her lip. "There is a good part, isn't there?"

"Sure, I got lots of good parts. Thought you'd have figured _that_ out by now."

Willow rolled her eyes.

"Okay, okay, I was just gonna check if, you know ... maybe you wanna hang out some too."

"Today?"

Faith shrugged. "Yeah, or ... whenever."

Willow looked at her. Then smiled. "Sure, yeah. We can do that."

A week later, she bought a new shade. Dark blue, with little flecks of gold on it, like stars.

"You shouldn't have done that," Faith said. "You didn't need to, I mean."

"It was starting to make you cranky and ..." Willow paused and looked at the Slayer, who sat on the end of the bed, watching her. "You okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, fine."

"You seem kinda quiet."

Faith nodded toward the dresser. "You had a picture there," she said. "And it hasn't been there since last week."

Willow turned around to look, but there was really no need to. She knew what Faith was talking about. She'd moved it the afternoon before the second night. "I just ... I didn't think it was okay."

"What, you thought I was gonna freak about it?"

Willow frowned. "No, not 'freak', but, I mean, this is where we, you know ..." She grimaced and lowered her voice. "With the sex and all."

Faith nodded slowly, brow furrowed, apparently considering the matter. "Is it in the drawer?"

"Uh-huh."

"Can I see it?"

Willow opened up the top drawer of the dresser, then took the photograph out and handed it to Faith. The Slayer's hands were perfectly still as she held the frame, long dark hair shielding her face as she lowered her head to study the picture. After a moment, she looked up again.

"Kinda bothered me that it just disappeared."

"You thought I was hiding it from you?"

"Somethin' like that."

Willow studied the crease on Faith's brow, the little slant at the corners of her eyes that indicated, what, worry?

"Can't say I'd blame ya. We didn't exactly hit it off that time ..."

Willow shook her head. "Oh, no, that wasn't it. I mean ..." She paused, hesitating over what she wanted to say. Worried that Faith wouldn't get it, that she'd get defensive and mean. Willow took a breath, steeled herself. "She woulda been the first one to give you a chance."

Faith didn't say anything for a moment, but, the apprehensive expression began to fade. She glanced back down at the photograph. "I was gonna tell you it was okay. But, yeah, maybe not in here, 'cause that would be —"

"Weird?"

Faith smiled. "Believe it or not, I was gonna go for something more tactful." She stood up and handed the photograph back to Willow before crossing the floor to the dresser and closing the drawer. "But, you should put it somewhere you can see it. Not locked away. It's a nice picture."

When Faith left for patrol, Willow went to her office and propped the photograph up on her desk. Buffy came by, looking for an email address for one of the new girls in Cleveland. She eyed the picture, curious.

"Is that new?" The smile that had started to form as she picked up the photograph vanished. "Oh, God, I don't mean — jeez, my foot should just take up permanent residency in my mouth ..."

Willow shook her head. "It's okay, Buffy. And, yeah, new. Sorta."

Buffy put the photograph down again and the smile returned. "It's a nice picture."


	21. Sixteen: Anyway You Look at It

**SIXTEEN: ANYWAY YOU LOOK AT IT**

Buffy didn't think it was that obvious. And not because she wanted to be able to say, "Look! Not self-involved! I know what's going on in the lives of the people around me without being hit over the head with it!"

It just wasn't that obvious.

Just little glances and Faith's eyes following Willow out of the room (more recently, accompanied by a self-satisfied smirk, which was only to be expected, Buffy supposed) and Willow gradually getting more cozy with the other Slayer, a little more inclined to lean closer and talk in a low voice that no one else was invited to hear.

But, Buffy said nothing. It wasn't high school, after all, so it wasn't as if she could pass a hastily-scrawled _What's going on?_ note to Willow in study hall.

She couldn't even make jokey little comments about holding hands under the table because this _was_ Faith they were talking about and holding hands under the table just wasn't wicked-cool or super-hot or whatever, was it? Besides, they sat on opposite sides of the dining table anyway.

So, instead, Buffy simply gave Willow knowing little smiles – _See? Not freaking!_ – and waited for her to spill.

* * *

Which she eventually did on Thursday morning – paperwork day – when Buffy went to the office.

Apparently unexpectedly.

Faith, of course, was totally unfazed by the interruption. She sat up a little and lazily removed her hand from where it had been, rolling her neck and stretching a little as if to loosen a tightened nerve, while Willow slid off her lap then squinted at the screen on Faith's computer and pretended to be checking for viruses or something, her face a surprisingly minor shade of pink.

"Hey, B – Will brought cookies."

_And hid them under her sweater?_ Buffy just smiled. "Thanks, Willow."

So, they drank coffee and ate cookies then Faith went to check on some shrieking noises that were coming from the direction of the locker room.

Willow looked at Buffy, perhaps waiting for her to say something.

Maybe she was waiting for her to ask how, or why, or what was she thinking? Maybe it would give her a way out.

_("Actually, those are really good points, Buffy. How could I have been so stupid? I'll just forget the whole thing ...")_

Buffy chewed on her lip.

_Is it 'cause you decided to go the _whole_ anti-Tara way? _

Which was a possibility, since Willow was now doing whatever she was doing with the person you'd get if you said, _let's make someone who's the opposite of Tara_. Who was only like Tara if Tara had been skanky and obnoxious and murdered people. But, now she thought about it, somehow Kennedy had been even _more_ not-Tara. Kennedy had had not-being-Tara down to the point where Buffy suspected that she'd actively _strived _to be not-Tara. Faith, on the other hand, probably never gave a single thought to how much she was or wasn't like Tara. Buffy just couldn't decide if that was simply arrogance on the other Slayer's part (which wouldn't exactly be a stretch) or if Faith should be admired for not letting Tara's shadow loom over whatever the hell they were doing. Maybe both.

_Is it just the sex?_

Which Buffy would understand. Well, not the _actual_ sex part itself, since she didn't really know what ... anyway, it was another possibility. The other Slayer was ... well, Buffy wasn't blind; plus, she had that whole 'look-at-me-I'm-so-tortured-yet-hot' thing going on. So, she could see why Willow might have decided that screwing Faith was a good idea. (And Buffy just bet that was the exact word Faith used – 'screwing'. Well, that or 'fucking'. Or 'boinking'. Or basically any one of a thousand euphemisms that didn't involve the L-word.) Then again, if Willow was so depressed or pissed off that she was sleeping with Faith, wouldn't she look more guilty or ashamed? Or maybe she was just doing it because she felt like it. Like a new hobby or something. Maybe Buffy could suggest handicrafts as an alternative.

_Do you think maybe Faith's just going where the power is now?_

Okay, that one could go wrong in _so_ many ways. Best not go there.

_Is it 'cause I haven't been a good enough friend?_

But, she couldn't imagine Faith and Willow just hanging out over mochas or doing the supportive-best-friend thing or talking about the kinds of stuff that they might talk about if Faith didn't actually happen to _be_ the subject of the type of stuff that friends sometimes talked about. All of which, of course, Buffy hadn't done for a long time with Willow until relatively recently again. So, maybe compared to Buffy, Faith was a veritable geyser of good friendshipness. When she wasn't too busy screwing her new friend, that is.

Willow gave Buffy a nervous smile, then looked at the floor, then picked up a paperclip from Faith's desk and studied it for a moment. Then, finally, she looked at Buffy and said that she should probably explain and she was sorry she didn't mention anything before, but, well, it was just one of those things and it was no big deal really, but she liked Faith and it was nice not to have to think about big relationshippy-stuff after all the intense Kennedy-stuff.

"But, isn't Faith, like … super-intense?" Buffy said carefully.

"Yeah, intense person, maybe. But, not in an intense-relationship sorta way. It's nice." Willow sort-of smiled. "And she doesn't treat me like all-knowing eighth-wonder-of-the-universe-girl either, which is nice too."

Buffy sat up and frowned. "But, she treats you okay, right?"

A little crease appeared on Willow's own brow. "Of course she does. I mean, I'm not _totally _oblivious. She's still Faith. I know that. But, she's been really nice. You know, to me."

Buffy nodded, wondering how many more times Willow could get away with using the word 'nice' when it came to talking about the woman she'd once thought was the most skanky, evil person in the western world. Maybe the eastern world too.

"Well, as long as you're happy," Buffy said. Supportive, yet noncommittal. A sensible degree of _yay_ for the Willow and Faith thing. It was probably too late to sound more enthusiastic now anyway.

Willow gave her another nervous smile and looked at the paper clip again.

Faith came back into the office. Her hair was damp and she'd changed into a different tee-shirt. "We gotta get stronger shower fittings. That's another one fucked."

"We're supposed to be teaching them to be more gentle," Buffy said. "With the not-slaying stuff, I mean. You know, how to not hurt ... things."

The other Slayer shrugged and sat down again. "Fine, whatever."

When Willow left the room a few minutes later, Faith leaned back in her chair, swiveling idly from side-to-side, her eyes still on the door. "Tellin' ya, B, now I get why the brat looked so friggin' happy all the time. I mean, the things that girl can do with ..."

Buffy clenched her teeth. "Faith, I swear ..."

"... cookie dough." The other Slayer looked at her, an innocent little smile on her face as she reached across her desk for the not-yet-empty plate.

Buffy forced herself to smile back.

Yeah, very nice.

* * *

Willow once told Buffy that Kennedy _always_ knew about 'you know, stuff like that'.

"You mean, like, the 'gaydar' thing?"

Willow shrugged. "Gaydar, heterodar ..."

_"Heterodar?"_

"Do I question your radio-wave puns? Anyway, I kinda mean the intimacy thing. As in, who's, you know ..."

"Getting some?" Buffy grinned.

Willow's shocked expression lasted about half a second before she shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, that."

Buffy was more inclined to suspect that Kennedy just assumed everyone was having sex until proven otherwise (not to be confused with Faith's assumption that everyone wanted to have sex with, well, Faith). But, when Kennedy returned from her latest trip and, within about three minutes, figured out that Faith and Willow were now in the habit of 'getting some' with each other, Buffy had to admit she may have underestimated the younger Slayer's sexdar abilities.

She'd seen Kennedy watch the two of them interact when Faith got back from patrol – which, as far as Buffy could see, had basically amounted to Faith taking a plate of leftover pizza from the fridge and saying, "Is this still good?" and Willow saying, "I think so."

Then, when Willow went to show one of the newbies how to improve the mega-something on her processing-whatever and Faith went to watch TV, leaving Buffy and Kennedy alone in the kitchen, Kennedy turned to the older Slayer and said:

"So, how long's she been sleeping with my ex-girlfriend?"

Once she'd finished being surprised and then impressed, Buffy shrugged. She could maybe hazard a fairly specific guess, based on when Faith's Willow-watching expressions had taken a turn from 'interested' to 'smirky' and Willow had begun to look more cheerfully flustered if Faith so much as breathed in her direction during their group library conferences, but that would be based on her own observations only and, since it really _hadn't_ been that obvious, she wasn't sure if she could be accurate enough. She decided on less-specific:

"Not long."

The younger Slayer leaned on the breakfast counter with her elbows, chewing her lip. After a moment, she cocked her head to the side and looked at Buffy.

"Do you think I should punch her?"

"Who?"

"Faith."

Buffy frowned. "Why would you do that?"

With a shrug, Kennedy straightened up again. "I don't know. I just thought maybe I should do something."

Buffy acknowledged the gesture with a sympathetic smile. Kennedy the protector. Even if Willow's happiness was no longer her responsibility, chivalry dictated that she defend the other woman from rogues and scoundrels who dared to take advantage. Or maybe she thought her own honor was at stake, that Faith had betrayed her.

"Nothing was going on before you and Willow broke up." Buffy was certain of that. Besides, judging from what she'd just witnessed, she was pretty sure Kennedy would have known.

The younger Slayer nodded. "Yeah, I know. I mean, she wouldn't do that."

"Who?"

"Uh, Willow." Kennedy gave her one of those little 'Earth-to-Buffy' looks that mostly served to remind Buffy why she and the younger Slayer could probably never be real friends.

Buffy offered a curious look in return, wondered what had happened to isn't-Faith-just-the-coolest-bestest-baddest-badas s-in-the-whole-wide-world? But, that was exactly the problem, wasn't it? Even if Kennedy knew there was nothing going on before the break-up, it didn't mean a betrayal of some kind hadn't occurred: Willow had ditched the student and moved on to the teacher and the teacher hadn't returned the student's loyalty. Buffy should probably have been giving the other woman 'Earth-to-Kennedy' looks for the past five months.

"I think she was gonna talk to you later tonight," Buffy said.

("I can't just tell her straight away. She'll be tired from her trip and, well, it wouldn't seem right. You know, _welcome home and, oh, by the way ..._")

"Maybe she shouldn't have to." Kennedy shrugged again. It was a gesture that always looked slightly awkward on the girl. Maybe Faith had forgotten to cover 'effortless nonchalance' in her lesson-plan.

As it was, Willow didn't talk to her. Not first anyway. Instead, Faith took Kennedy out to patrol a nearby cemetery and, by the time they got back, any possible issues appeared to have been dealt with without recourse to crossbows-at-dawn. Buffy never asked, so she was never sure which approach Borderline-Bi-Polar-Girl had taken, but she had it narrowed down to the two most likely to have required the fewest words: either Zen-Faith, since the long, meaningful silences would have come in useful; or Don't-Give-a-Crap-Faith, who would have just shrugged and said something like, "Too bad, deal with it."

But, things _were_ different. Over the next few weeks and beyond, Kennedy still sparred with Faith when she was home, still nodded intently in agreement whenever Faith was discussing techniques or tactical maneuvers with the newbies, still listened to her dumb stories and laughed on cue, but at the same time, Buffy noticed that the younger Slayer no longer regarded Faith with quite the same reverence as before, no longer hung on _every_ word and gesture like she was the Second Coming. Because when your heroes betrayed you, maybe they couldn't be your heroes anymore.

Faith didn't seem to notice. Or else she just didn't care. But, she _did_ stop calling Kennedy 'The Brat'.

For a respectful couple of months anyway.

* * *

It turned out Dawn knew already. Or she'd at least figured _something_ was going on.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Buffy asked.

"Denial maybe? Come on, we're talking about the two most potentially evil women in the world making with the smoochies?"

Buffy bit her lip. She hadn't thought of that. She shook her head. "No, that's not gonna ... I mean, I'm pretty sure it's not a —"

Dawn looked at her and laughed. "Jeez, Buffy ... I'm kidding."

Buffy laughed too, ignoring how shaky and quiet it sounded.

Her sister grinned. "You know, we could sneak into Faith's room and check for a letterman jacket in her closet."

"You think it's that bad?"

Dawn shrugged, the amused expression fading. "Not _bad_. Just ... I'm not sure. Things should've been ..." She looked down for a moment, then shook her head and smiled again. "There's wig, but I guess as long as they're happy."

Buffy nodded understandingly, with a surge of pride (and a bit of guilt) for the extra generosity Dawn had extended to Faith.

Her sister's smile turned just a shade evil. "But, hey, I'll bet it's a leather one."

"The jacket?" Buffy smiled back. "Isn't it supposed to put the whammy on all of us?"

This time, Dawn smirked. "I think this one works in stages. Maybe it's still not my turn yet."

Buffy started to laugh again, then stopped abruptly. "Huh?"

* * *

They'd been noticeably careful around Xander and, at first, Buffy wasn't sure if she should be pissed off at Willow for not talking to him about it. On the one hand, only one person had been deliberately extended that courtesy and so it wasn't as if he was being singled out; on the other, it just seemed sort of _wrong_ that Willow hadn't taken him aside and discussed whatever needed to be discussed. On the (freakish) third hand, Buffy sort of understood: Kennedy was The Ex, one they still had to see on a semi-regular basis, and so was automatically entitled to some kind of explanation; Xander came with a messy history of crushes, imagined 'connections', humiliations, and near-murderous encounters; the things that probably warranted him special consideration and prevented it at the same time.

But, 'being careful' most likely also contributed to him looking like he'd been punched in the gut with a wrecking ball when the penny finally dropped. Or when the penny had been thrown at him – not with _great_ force, but enough to stir him out of the necessary haze of oblivion he sometimes seemed to have surrounded himself with since Anya ... since the reality of the situation had hit him. Besides, Willow had always been his blind spot (God, those accidental puns were annoying); he was too close sometimes to see the more subtle displays of hurt or happiness – or want to see them. Not too different from Buffy herself who, more than once in the past, had most likely used her ready-made isolation as an excuse not to notice.

Buffy was kind of glad she hadn't been the penny-thrower, but Dawn said later that he would have found out anyway ("How could he not? Hello! We all live in the same house!") and it was probably better it came from a third party than from suddenly just realizing or stumbling across in-your-face evidence that Willow and Faith weren't simply bonding in a colleagues-come-housemates-frequently-thrown-toget her-by-work-type-circumstances sort of way.

Instead, Dawn had accidentally made a comment on Saturday night when Willow and Faith were 'hanging out' at the movies:

"Yeah, 'cause, you know, it's 'not a date'. I mean, jeez ..." Dawn started to roll her eyes, then froze and looked at Xander, turning on a huge 'I _so_ didn't just say that' smile, as if it might cover up what she'd let slip. For a moment, Buffy thought the technique might actually be working, but she quickly remembered that the slightly dazed, less pathologically smiley expression Xander was directing back at her sister usually just meant that comprehension hadn't set in yet.

When the expression on his face _did_ change, Buffy watched with a combination of dread and undeserved impatience as his mouth opened and closed again, like he wanted to say something, but didn't know exactly what or how to get it out.

"It's kinda complicated," she said. A non-explanation for all occasions that she winced at herself for using. For one thing, she wasn't even sure if it _was_ complicated and she had nothing to back up the claim if he asked the 'how?' question. Willow was sleeping with Faith – simplicity itself. Like a Slayer who slept with vampires, or a demon-fighter who almost married an ex-demon, or a former ball of energy who'd probably end up taking a vow of celibacy (which, off-topic, Buffy couldn't say she would be too upset about). She could see his face pale, almost see the intense throbbing in his head that was making it difficult to get his thoughts in order, if he even knew what kind of order he wanted in the first place. Buffy suddenly envied Faith's (possible/probable) 'get over it' philosophy.

Dawn, thousand-watt grimace now replaced with a concerned squint, offered her own Blunt Instrument of Would-be Comfort: "But, it's just, you know, a 'thing', anyway. Whatever that means." She punctuated the effort with a nervous laugh.

Xander looked down at the dining room table, nudging the colored chips in front of him with his finger. When he looked up again, a smile, roughly speaking, was back in place. He shrugged with one shoulder. "Yeah, I get it – a thing." He picked up his beer and nodded at the cards Dawn was holding. "So, what'cha got there, Dawnster?"

Buffy had already folded.

Xander was good at poker.

* * *

Buffy rubbed her arms as she crossed the yard; October had brought a _little_ less outdoor warmth, but the outlook was clear and Saturday's off-season barbeque was a go-ahead.

("It was a bargain," said Xander.

"Is it really a bargain if you didn't plan on buying it in the first place?"

"Says the woman who can smell a shoe sale at two-hundred paces."

"I stand corrected. But, hey, thanks for the disturbing shoe-smelling imagery.")

She went inside, hesitated for about two seconds, then crossed the hallway to the living room.

Faith was sprawled on the recliner, watching TV, beer in hand, a box of popcorn in her lap. The room was empty otherwise. Xander and Dawn were out having pizza with the newbies, Willow was in her office video-conferencing with the Coven, Kennedy was in Greece.

Buffy approached the other Slayer. "Can I talk to you?"

Faith didn't look up, but she hit the mute button.

"Um, I don't know if you know ... I didn't even know myself. I mean, I _knew_, but I kinda forgot. Dawn reminded me ..."

Faith tilted her head up. "This about next Thursday?"

"Oh. So, you _do_ know?"

The other Slayer nodded. "Will said something."

"Oh."

Faith was clutching a fistful of popcorn, her gaze steady, with maybe just a hint that something funny was happening. "So, this a warning or just a friendly heads-up?"

"I just thought you should know," Buffy said. Queen of the Non-Answer – her recently-bestowed title was safe for now.

With a shrug, Faith stuffed the popcorn in her mouth and turned her attention back to the TV. The sound of gunfire came out tinny from the set's speakers.

When Buffy got to the doorway, she heard Faith clear her throat.

"Thanks, B."

Buffy paused, her sarcasm detector coming up empty. Not enough time to process _that_ before she saw the door to Willow's office open. She caught a glimpse of the photograph on the desk just before Willow closed the door behind her, locked it, and entered the living room through the doorway near the back.

Faith sat up and the TV once again fell silent.

"How'd your big meeting go?"

Willow smiled. "Good." She took Faith's beer from her hand, lifted the box of popcorn and, with what could only be described as hippo-like grace, plunked herself down on the other Slayer's lap.

"Hey, you break it, you bought it. And watch the fuckin' leather."

"Oh, shut up."

Buffy went through to the kitchen and started to make some tea, wondered what Tara would think, her mind still half-focused on the image of the tangled figures on the recliner, like a living sculpture from Bizarro-world.

While the water boiled, she looked through the window, across the backyard. Her eyes settled on the small garden for a moment before she turned her gaze upward and observed the sky above still clear, still peaceful.

_"Oh, crap."_

_"Jesus, Will, if you're into the wet tee-shirt thing, you just gotta say."_

_"It's not gonna stain, is it? Sorry. Damn … it's this stupid chair."_

_"Tell ya what, lemme go change and we'll go out for a couple hours. Maybe find you a bar where the chicks don't mind gettin' beer thrown over them."_

_"Funny."_

Not a replacement, but not a stop-gap either. Neither one of them was thinking that far ahead. Buffy turned away from the window.

She knew _exactly_ what Tara would think.

* * *

**Re: this chapter's title:** Not a typo on my part, but poor grammar from Mick and Keith (or some kind of weird pun that doesn't make sense). I decided to go with it in any case/nonetheless/regardless.


	22. Seventeen: 2,000 Light Years From Home

**SEVENTEEN: 2,000 LIGHT YEARS FROM HOME**

On Sunday evening, they'd just finished eating dinner, when the doorbell rang. Everyone looked in the direction of the front hallway.

"Who'd be ringing our doorbell?" asked Dawn.

Buffy shrugged. "A neighbor from five miles away who really needs to borrow some detergent?"

"We're not expecting any new girls tonight, are we?" asked Xander.

"Nope," said Willow, then looked at Faith. "Maybe it's that demon, come to buy our stuff."

"Maybe it's a psycho ax-murderer," said Faith.

Buffy shrugged again. "Kinda fun to see the look on his face when he finds out he picked the wrong house to act out his issues."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Or maybe someone's car just broke down," Dawn suggested.

"Yeah, maybe." Faith looked disappointed.

They all continued to gaze into the hallway.

"Um, shouldn't someone answer the door?" suggested one of the new Slayers at the other table.

"Right, of course," said Buffy, standing up. She motioned to Faith, who pushed her chair back and followed her from the dining room.

In the hallway, Buffy peered through the glass panel on the front door.

"Who is it?" Faith asked.

"It's too dusty – I can't see." With an impatient sigh, Buffy opened the door and looked at the figure standing a few feet in front of her.

Her mouth dropped open.

"Oh … my … God."

"What the _fuck_ is that?" Faith said.

The figure stood, hands behind her back, head cocked to the side, dressed from head to toe in black and red leather that looked not a little creased and dusty. A half-sly, half-sweet smile appeared on her dark red lips.

"Hi," said the vampire. She twisted a strand of shoulder-length red hair around her finger coyly. "Is Willow in?"

* * *

Apparently, she had no idea what she was doing back in their reality five years in the future. All she knew was that she'd woken up in the Sunnydale crater and, after climbing through the rubble and dirt and leaving a message with some stones, had managed to make her way to the house by hitching rides at night when she could and hiding out in barns and other shady locations during the day. Some visiony-type flashes during the translocation had given her a fair idea of where the house was; she'd used road signs and the North Star for guidance, getting lost only a couple of times along the way.

("Oh," said Willow, "I guess I didn't leave that message for myself. I mean, technically, yeah, I did, but, not really ...")

Now the vampire was sitting on Faith's chair, drumming her fingers silently on the armrest. Willow watched as she cast her eyes around the room slowly then, with a thin smirk, settled her gaze on Buffy.

"You have a lovely home."

Buffy shifted forward a little on the couch, eyes fixed intently on the vampire; the younger Slayers spread out around the room continued to watch her too. Since her arrival, they'd been gaping at her with barely masked expressions of curiosity and awe, while every now and then, one of them would ask a question. Well, mostly the same question:

"Are you _really_ Willow from another reality?"

To her credit, the vampire had answered the inquiry each time, even if she didn't do a great job hiding her irritation. "Yes," she'd sigh, rolling her eyes, once she finished fixing the interrogator with an icy glare. Now, with the question-come-exclamation making its fourth or fifth appearance, Willow began to feel a little sorry for her other self, not to mention mildly alarmed by the soft, but clearly audible, growl that accompanied the affirmative response this time.

"Guys?" she said, from where she stood beside the chair. "I think you can all safely assume that, yes, this vampire-me _is_ me from another reality."

The vampire looked at Buffy. "You really oughta get better minions."

"I told you," Buffy said evenly, after a couple of indignant 'heys' from the girls, "They're _not_ minions, they're Slayers."

"Whatever," the vampire sighed, rolling her eyes once more. After another moment of inaudible finger-drumming, she looked at Buffy again, a sly smirk back in place. "Do you have anything to —"

"Blood's on its way," Buffy cut in.

"— read?" the vampire finished. She smiled. "I made sure to eat before I got here."

Buffy's eyes widened.

"Cattle blood," the vampire explained, the grin fading to a pout. She actually looked embarrassed about it. Tilting her head up, she looked at Willow. "I thought you and your little gang would be more likely to help if I left the humans alone while I'm here."

"Well, there's one unsolved mystery … solved," said Faith from where she stood in the doorway.

Buffy remained skeptical. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" she asked. "That it's_ just_ cows you've been feeding on?"

The vampire looked at her, the thin smirk back on her lips. "'Cause we're bestest friends?" she suggested in a syrupy-sweet voice.

Faith sniggered, just as Willow's cell phone rang. Willow took the call, watching Faith while she listened. The Slayer was eyeing her other self with a look of … it was actually kinda hard to tell. Perhaps surprisingly, she'd been relatively mute about the unexpected visitor, letting Willow and Buffy do most of the freaking out about her. Mostly, she seemed content to observe from the sidelines, although keeping her distance might well be at least partly down to the fact that the vampire kept leering at her and making creepy, inappropriate comments.

"Well, the Coven's got no idea," said Willow, closing her phone over.

Buffy sighed. "And according to Giles, Ethan's still under lock and key."

"And you're sure it's not the witch bitch, right?" Faith checked.

"No, Amy would have told me while she had the chance," said Willow. "She'd know it isn't the kinda thing to just spring on me after our last conversation."

Faith nodded and looked at the vampire. "So, looks like we've got less than a clue about you."

The other Willow tilted her head; smirky was now disturbingly coy. "Well, if you wanna find out more ..."

A couple of the girls sniggered, while Willow cringed.

"I'm _really_ sorry. She does these things ..."

"Don't sweat it," said Faith, and there was that look again, the one that Willow couldn't quite figure out.

They turned as the front door opened and Dawn and one of the new girls entered, carrying a plastic bag.

"Did you get some okay?" Buffy asked.

Dawn nodded and looked at Willow. "We told the guy at the plant it was for 'black pudding', like you said. Is that _really_ a thing?"

Willow nodded back. "I'm afraid so."

While Dawn went to the kitchen to put the blood in the refrigerator, Xander appeared at the doorway near the back of the living room. "That's the cage set up downstairs."

Another hangover from the original purpose behind the house, a steel cage left in parts in the basement, complete with a backboard with chains and various shackles bolted on. Never used, as far as Willow was aware, despite Xander's disturbing speculation about Quentin Travers and Lydia Whatsername when they'd first stumbled across it.

The vampire looked appalled. "A cage? You've got to be kidding me."

Buffy frowned. "No offense, but we're not gonna let you just wander around the house while the girls are tucked up safe and sound. That would kinda take the 'safe and sound' out of it."

Willow gave her other self an encouraging smile. "But, it's a really nice cage."

* * *

Faith had missed Willow's vamp first time around; too busy being a backstabbing, evil gofer. But, she'd heard about it. Hadn't thought about it too much. When the guy you're killing and stealing for was planning to turn Sunnydale into Club Med for demons, vampire doubles didn't really register as _that_ big a deal. But she'd been curious, and now she knew.

That Willow's double was smarter than the average vamp wasn't exactly a big revelation. That she was hot in a skanky, slutty kinda way, with the pale face and red lips and black nail polish and fuck-me leather, was kind of a mind-blower; Xander was probably already planning a little late night log-flogging over which Willow she was gonna do first that night, maybe both at the same time. Boy had been watching her like a one-eyed hawk ever since last Saturday night's _News from Channel Dawn_, caught between predictable, naughty Xander-thoughts and looking like she'd just strangled his puppy, like she was doing it just to piss him off, 'cause why else would she be boinking his best buddy?

She watched the vampire through the bars of the cage in the corner of the basement, held her gaze while the vamp looked straight at her and pouted for about twenty seconds or so before another sly little smile twisted her mouth upward.

"Faith?"

The sound of Willow's voice brought her attention back to the circle on the basement floor with some other markings inside. Willow was wiping chalk-dust from her hands.

"You want your vamp now?"

"Yep, I think we're ready."

Faith crossed the floor and unlocked the cage. "Don't try anything, huh?"

"I came for help," said the vampire as she stepped out from behind the bars. "I'm not likely to do something to _stop_ me getting help, am I? That would be stupid."

"Well, crazy vampire logic …" said Buffy with a shrug, taking hold of one of the vampire's arms as they sat cross-legged around the outside edge of the circle. Faith sat at Willow's right side, with Buffy beside her, then the vampire.

Buffy shuffled forward a little. "So, this re-enactment thingy … will the rest of us be able to see anything?"

Willow shook her head. "Afraid not."

"Aw, I wanted to see what I'm like in another world."

"You look like a dyke," the vampire drawled and Faith sniggered.

"I'm a lesbian?" Buffy squeaked. She glanced quickly at Willow. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong ..."

The vampire snorted. "I said you _look_ like one – didn't say you were getting any."

Faith sniggered again as the vamp turned her attention to Willow.

"So, you're a big queer now? Huh."

Willow's lip curled a little nervously. "You're not gonna get all creepy, are you?"

"You had your chance," said the vampire with a shrug, then paused and smiled slowly. "But, I guess an older woman-me _could_ be interesting ..."

"Okay, that would be the kinda creepy I'm talkin' about."

Faith and Buffy exchanged bemused frowns before Faith turned to the other Willow. "So, how about me?" she asked. "You know, where you are?"

The vampire shrugged again. "Don't know you." She cast a brief glance at Buffy. "Yet."

Buffy's mouth dropped open a little and Willow cleared her throat.

"Alrighty!" she said cheerily. "Let's get on with this. Sooner we figure it out, the sooner you get back."

Buffy grinned. "You'll like this, Faith. We all get to hold hands."

"So long as you keep your dykey virgin half to yourself, I'll deal."

"Oh, look, my sides just split all over the floor …"

"Guys, please? Focus?" Willow frowned. "Okay, you're all gonna have to shut your eyes. And, whatever happens, keep them shut – things might get a little hairy, but don't wig out."

"How hairy we talkin'?" asked Faith.

"Um … think Oz on a full moon kinda hairy. And, also? Don't break the circle. Any interruptions to the flow of energy could do weird things."

"Such as?" asked Buffy.

"Oh, you know … break down the barrier between the two realities, creating a chain reaction of chaos, so eventually the universe collapses in on itself. Stuff like that."

"Good to know," said Faith. She held out her right hand and wiggled her fingers. "Come on, B. Play nice."

They all joined hands and, along with the others, Faith closed her eyes, listened while Willow began to chant some words she didn't recognize. Nothing happened for maybe half a minute or so. And then she felt it, like soft pinpricks on the tips of the fingers on her left hand that got warmer as they started to spread out, vibrating along her arm, across her shoulders, back down toward her other hand … like blue light flowing through her veins, touching every nerve ending along the way. Willow's voice was getting louder too, filling the room until, if Faith wasn't already aware that the source was sitting right next to her, it would have been impossible to pinpoint where the words were coming from. Then, all of a sudden the chanting stopped, Willow inhaled a deep, sharp breath, and the flow of light turned into a rush, a liquid flood of heat traveling through her, so intense and so fucking _awesome_ that, for a second, Faith thought she might pass out.

Through the haze, her left hand began to ache as Willow's grip got tighter, her mind flashing suddenly to those same fingers wrapped around her throat as a fist smashed into her mouth and she tasted her own blood; a head snapping back and crashing against the bridge of her nose, so hard, she hadn't been able to see for a few seconds, the tears were so thick; a sneaker-covered foot pounding her ribs until she thought she was going to throw up; punishment meted out while a world of pain churned behind eyes black and shiny like wet ink.

A sudden spastic jolt made her left hand jump and she heard Willow start to draw shallow breaths, gulping for air like she was struggling to breathe.

Faith's eyes twitched – _don't fucking open them_ – but, Willow knew what she was doing, didn't she, and she'd said things might get heavy. But, Jesus, what if something was wrong? What if something had upset the connection? What if the vamp had done something — and, all of a sudden, it dawned on Faith what had happened. Sure enough, Willow's hand went limp and the flow of energy stuttered to a stop. But, she waited for the other woman's hand to slip free from her own before she opened her eyes.

"You okay?" Faith asked.

Willow nodded, face ash-white, breathing not quite back to normal, but getting there.

"What the hell happened?" asked Buffy. "Will? Are you all right?"

Willow nodded again then looked at the vampire. "I think you died."

"How the hell could I have died, moron? I'm here, aren't I?"

Willow shook her head. "No, I felt it … right when the translocation started. When we sent you back last time, you died."

"Sending her back killed her?" said Buffy.

"No, I think it was … you know, the usual way."

The vampire sighed. "This sucks."

"So, any clue what got her here?" asked Faith.

"No, I … she … was only there for about three seconds and whatever weirdness happened, I don't think it happened there."

Faith stood up, helped Willow to her feet while Buffy took the vamp back to the cage.

"Are _you_ okay?" Willow asked, a nervous smile twisting the corner of her mouth. "I know it got a bit … intense there."

Faith looked at the redhead, saw the worry clear as day written on her face. She shrugged. "I dunno … made me kinda hungry. You wanna go get a burger or something?"

"Oh." Willow started to smile, but the sudden sound of footsteps on the stairway caused the three of them to turn around. Dawn paused about halfway down the stairs and ducked her head to look at them.

"Any luck with the mojo?"

Buffy moved away from the cage. "Not really. Did you find anything?"

"I'm not sure. You wanna come up to the library?"

They followed Dawn back up the steps to the hallway. Faith shut the door behind them, and they made their way to the second floor while Dawn continued:

"I mean, it's a little out there, but it's the only thing that seems to make any sense, you know, the moving from one reality to another _plus_ the extensive time-travel? There aren't a whole lot of demons or witches who can do that kinda thing. I mean, Willow could probably do it, but I don't think Willow did this."

Willow shook her head firmly. "No, pretty sure I didn't do _this_."

"So, I narrowed it down to this one demon who's been known to do the reality-time travel thing before, but it's kinda funny, 'cause he doesn't just do it on his own. I mean, it's not like he just decides one day to start transporting people or vampires across time and space dimensions, because if he —"

"Dawn," Buffy interrupted. "Is the point you're trying to make anywhere near _our_ time and space dimension?"

"Just want you to be clear on the weirdness," Dawn said with a scowl. She stopped outside the library door and sighed dramatically. "So, this demon needs a catalyst. Sort of like Anya needed a scorned woman to do her thing? Except this demon's not into vengeance. You tell him what you want and, if you're worthy, he tries to get it for you."

Everyone looked at Dawn, waiting.

"So?" Buffy raised a questioning eyebrow.

Dawn folded her arms across her chest. "So, did anyone make any wishes recently?"

* * *

"I thought I'd covered everything," Buffy groaned.

Xander leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on the table. "But, when you made this wish, you forgot to rule out Taras _still_ in another reality."

Buffy nodded. "The demon said he'd 'grant the means' to get Will someone 'sorta like another Tara'." She winced and looked at Willow. "Did I say I was sorry?"

Willow smiled a little. "More than once."

Faith sat back in her chair. "So that makes Willow's vamp 'the means', right?"

"Looks like it," said Dawn. She turned to Willow. "I guess you're supposed to go back with … you."

Faith saw a little frown appear on Buffy's brow, like she'd just realized that – _shocker_ – Willow hitching a ride with her vamp could mean no more Willow. Still, Faith couldn't help feel a little bad for the other Slayer. Even the realization that this meant Amazon-Tara at the club had nothing to do with the wish, and so was Faith's fault entirely, hadn't cheered her up too much.

Picking at a ragged nail on her thumb, Faith wondered what her own other self was doing right now. If Willow and B were anything to go by she was probably a perky college gal with a promising future in biochemistry or something. Still a Slayer, maybe, or at least a potential one. Maybe her predecessor would have better luck in that reality, if Kendra even got called in the first place. The vamp hadn't exactly been overly helpful and Willow's flashback-and-across spell hadn't produced too much in the way of background color. Who knew what the fuck everyone was doing? Her brow narrowed as something occurred to her then.

"So, if the vamp's here to take Will back to her place, does that mean she _knows_ Tara?"

Willow blinked. "I don't see how. I mean, I didn't know her then. I mean, if I was there, like me here."

Dawn frowned. "But, if things are different there, maybe Tara's in Sunnydale already. Or, if Sunnydale's all apocalypsy, maybe she'll never show up. Maybe she's gonna go to another college."

"Or maybe we could, you know, ask the vampire?" said Xander.

"I'll ask her," said Willow. "It's probably feeding time anyway."

* * *

Willow slid the warm cup through the bars onto the floor of the cage, debating whether or not to wake her vampire who, right now, was lying asleep on the cot, the blanket wrapped around her tucked underneath her chin, a copy of _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ on the floor beside her. She looked so peaceful and sweet, you could almost forget she was a bloodsucking fiend.

The sound of light footfalls on the basement stairway interrupted the deliberation. She turned just as Faith reached the bottom and tilted her head toward the cage in the corner.

"Hey, Will, check you out."

Willow sighed. "Okay, that was funny maybe the first ten times ..."

With a grin, Faith pulled a cigarette from the pack in her hand and lit it.

"Guess _that_ explains the burn mark on the dryer." Willow frowned as she approached the other woman.

"Not gonna snitch, are ya?" Faith turned her head to the side and exhaled a thin cloud of smoke.

"What, and ruin a perfectly good story about the demon with acid for blood?"

Leaning back against the side of the stairwell, the other woman raised an eyebrow. "She didn't buy it, huh?"

"Despite recent evidence to the contrary ..." Willow motioned back toward the cage. "Buffy's smarter than you like to think she is."

The Slayer shrugged. "She was just doin' the best bud thing. Lookin' about ten shades of sorry right now."

Willow smiled. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost think you were defending her again."

"Good thing you do know better." Faith nodded toward the cage and the sleeping figure on the cot. "Take it the interrogation hasn't started yet."

"I was just about to wake her. Plus, I was thinkin' about letting her take a bath. It's making me feel icky just looking at her."

Faith nodded. "Well, before you do that, I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Talking?" Willow raised an eyebrow, amused. "Are you sure?"

"Okay, think of it more like an offer ..."

The eyebrow rose higher. "Ooh, what kind of offer?"

"Believe it or not, not _that_ kind ..." Faith pushed herself away from the stairwell. "It's just, I was thinkin' ... you wanna go back, I'll come too."

Willow blinked. "What? Are you kidding?"

"Yeah, okay, no need to go all _hear me roar_. I know you can take care of yourself, but it can't hurt to have a Slayer along for the ride. We'll go skip realities with your vamp, find Tara, bring her back here."

"You would do that?"

Faith shrugged. "Sure. Don't see why not."

"But, what about … I mean, what if I don't wanna go back?"

The Slayer was studying her, surprise with a little distrust thrown in. She sucked in a lungful of smoke, letting it go again with a casual sigh. "Look, if you think you're gonna be doin' me some big favor, forget about it."

"What are you talking about?"

A pair of eyebrows ascended. "You think I wanna be responsible for you missin' out on gettin' Tara back? I _know_ I'm a good ride and all, but I don't wanna be the chick you stuck around for, not on your fuckin' life."

Willow scowled. "You think you're the only one who worries about stuff like that?"

"Didn't say I was _worried_ …"

"Oh, stop with the _too-kool-for-skool_ crap and just listen."

Faith managed a grin through her otherwise sober expression. "Ooh, butch."

Willow ignored her. "I don't _want_ you to be responsible. I mean, not that kind of responsible. That's not what this … us … that's not what it's about. So, okay, I like you, yeah. But, there are other things to consider too, other things that matter."

The Slayer dropped the remains of her cigarette on the concrete floor, stood on it, then folded her arms and looked at her, like she knew she was about to get a lecture and was just waiting for it to be over and done with.

Unperturbed, Willow continued: "We show up in that reality nearly five years ago and we find Tara? Then what? What am I supposed to say? _Oh hi there, you don't know me, but for two and a half years you were the best thing in my life, you were my world. And then I screwed up and …_" She paused, swallowed back the knot she felt rise in her throat. "… _and then my world died and I still love you, but things are different now. _I'm_ different now. And by the way, this is Faith and we didn't used to like each other very much, but that's another story. So ... wanna come with, and, hey, maybe we can make it back in time for that twenty-third birthday you're five years too early for?_" She looked at the Slayer. "Do you know how messed up that sounds?"

"Well, when you put it like that … no, not really."

Willow sighed. "Did you even listen to —"

The Slayer shook her head. "Crazy, yeah, not messed up." She smiled at Willow. "But, you've got a point."

"I've got another one too."

"Check out my total lack of surprise."

Willow flashed a quick scowl before continuing: "A couple of years ago, not even that long, I wouldn't have given it a second thought. If I didn't like how something was workin' out, I'd change it. And not in a good, wholesome _be-all-you-can-be_ way. That was the stuff Tara hated. Changing things just to suit myself …"

Faith nodded. "Like the memory thing, right?"

"Yeah, like that … like messing around with people's realities." Willow smiled a little, but when she spoke again, her voice was shakier than she'd have liked: "I know things are gonna be different there. I don't know _exactly_ how different – Anya would probably have been able to explain it. But, whoever Tara Maclay is in that reality, she belongs there – that's her world and this is mine. I shouldn't mess around with that. So, yeah, there are more than enough reasons not to go there that have nothing to do with you."

The Slayer stood with her hands jammed deep into the front pockets of her jeans, shoulders hunched high. Willow half-expected her to start digging at the layer of dust on the basement floor with the toe of her boot. The corner of Faith's mouth turned up, adding to what could very nearly pass for bashfulness. "You're not just sayin' that to make me feel better?"

"Scout's honor. You're really _not_ all that."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "Funny."

And later – much later – Willow would think back to that moment, as the other woman lit another cigarette and released the smoke with a quick, noisy breath, and remember that maybe … perhaps … possibly … Faith had looked relieved.

A noise from the corner of the basement made them look over. The vampire was sitting up, stretching.

"Very touching," she drawled. "Don't happen to have a sick bag handy, do ya?"

"I thought you were asleep," Willow said.

"I was until _Days of Our Stupid Lives_ woke me up and started making my tummy nauseous." She arched an eyebrow at Willow. "And you're screwing a Slayer? I'd say you've got a thing for white hats, but I'm thinkin' this one likes to get hers a little dirty now and then." She paused for a second, thoughtful. "Hey, have you done Buffy? Now _that's_ got to be thrill and a half ..."

Willow made a face. "Could you stop being gross for two seconds?"

"Whatever." The vampire waved her protest off with a dismissive hand and picked up the cup beside the cot. Her eyes suddenly lit up. "Say, do you have a puppy too?"

"Um, no." Willow frowned. Who knew trying to follow her own train of thought could be so difficult? "We had Miss Kitty —"

"Really?" Her vampire looked positively thrilled. "What was _she_ like?"

Faith nudged Willow. "She gonna start makin' sense again anytime soon?"

Vampire Willow snorted. "You're just testy 'cause now you won't get your three-way with Fuzzy-Me and Tara."

Willow stepped closer to the cage. "You know Tara in your world?"

"Can't say I do, but, I heard you talkin' about her." The vampire's eyes shifted slowly from Willow to Faith and back again. "Was she your girlfriend?"

Willow said nothing, but the vampire smirked anyway.

"Did she leave you? I don't blame her if she did. Couldn't have been very nice for her, if you were running around fucking Slayers —"

Willow sighed, opening her mouth to respond, then shook her head and turned to Faith instead. "I need to talk to her alone."

The Slayer hesitated, eyeing the vampire with maybe just a touch of caution, then shrugged. "Want me to tell B you're stickin' around? She's just about wearing the floor out upstairs."

Willow smiled. "Yeah. I'll be up in a couple of minutes anyway."

She waited until she heard Faith exit the basement, then turned back to the cage, wondered what to tell her other self. Apart from anything else, it was probably unrealistic to expect a 'sorry for your loss' from the monster who was gazing at her over the rim of her cup as she drank by-now-tepid-at-best pigs' blood. Still, Willow had to know and that meant talking about it, regardless of her vampire's insensitivity.

She watched as her other self tilted her head back, draining the mug. And, for just an instant, the vampire's face morphed: The ridges on her brow deepened and her eyes took on an unearthly luster, glowing yellow in the dank, subterranean gloominess, a flash of elongated incisors showing as she lowered the cup again and gave a satisfied leer. Slowly, she shook her head from side to side until Willow was once again looking at a pale-skinned mirror-image of her younger self.

The vampire moved closer to the bars of the cage. "So, what happened to Tara?" she asked with a pout. "Was it _sad?_"

"She died," said Willow.

For the first time since her arrival, her other self looked a little nervous. "It wasn't a … vampire, was it?" she asked hesitantly, before giving Willow a small, hopeful smile. "Cancer maybe?"

"No … a man … boy … Warren Mears. A horrible, misogynist creep."

A look of relief passed across the vampire's face, before she turned her gaze back to Willow and arched an eyebrow. "So, what did you do about it? Couldn't let him get away with —"

"I killed him," said Willow, then frowned. "Wait, how did you —"

"You _killed_ him?" Her vampire looked genuinely shocked. "I was _joking_." She leaned closer against the bars of the cage, a slow, dark smile spreading across her face. "Hey, I'm all … proud of you."

"Don't be," said Willow, ignoring the tiny surge of pleasure at the approval shown by her other self. An involuntary response, much like sneezing, or _ouch_-ing when she stubbed her toe.

"I suppose that explains all the _grrr _stuff during your little spell earlier."

"You felt that?"

"Of course I did, stupid. My methods might be a little more … tactile, but I know dark energy when I feel it. Plus, you almost crushed my fucking fingers. Hey, your new ride isn't a lefty is she, 'cause, well, didn't think _that_ one through, did ya?"

Willow made a face. "Can we get back to the point, please?"

"Fine," the vampire sighed. "So, let me get this straight – no offense, Dykey-Me – before you decided to stay here and fuck your Slayer, you and I were supposed to look for Tara in my world? What's that all about?"

"It's a long story."

The vampire raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Buffy made a wish."

Her vampire rolled her eyes. "Sweet girl. Not too bright."

Willow blinked. Now, _that_ was disturbing. "Uh … so, you really don't know Tara?"

"No, but I have a proposition for you concerning your deeply missed girlfriend, the one in my reality."

"You're not planning to find her and do anything evil, are you? Because if you ever hurt her, I'll find out and I'll bring you back again and you _will_ feel pain. And not any of that pain you probably quite like."

"No, dummy. I wanna make a deal with you. If you send me back a few seconds earlier than last time, I'll kill Warren Mears."

Willow's mouth fell open. "What?"

"I'll wipe him off the face of the earth before he can even get started. I'm sure you don't want Tara to die _again_, do you?"

"But … but, things are different in your world. Tara might not die there."

The vampire's eyes narrowed. "Do you think things are _that_ different? You think it's some kind of utopia where men who hate women don't exist? Don't get me wrong, I like my world, but even if that boy doesn't kill Tara, just think of the other women you could be saving."

Unbidden, the memory of a woman Willow had never known except in death came to her. Katrina Silber. His first. Pale, blue and cold. She should have strangled him in his sleep, she'd said, done the world a favor.

Willow shook her head. "You don't care about those women."

"Does it matter?" said her other self with a shrug. "It'll be one less sniveling fuckstain in the world whether I care about vaginal-Americans or not."

"But what if Warren's not like that where you are?"

The vampire released a long sigh and raised her eyes ceiling-ward. "Well, I suppose there's a tiny possibility he might not be. In fact, I'm sure you can picture him right now _not_ doing awful, hateful, terrible things …"

Willow swallowed. This was confusing and weird and probably not of the good. "Didn't you hear that stuff I said about not changing things?"

The vampire looked at her. "Yes, and it was a very pretty and very boring speech and I'm sure your Tara would be very proud … blah blah blah." She ran a finger around the rim of the empty, blood-stained cup in her hand. "But, wouldn't it be nice to know that, in at least one reality, Warren Mears got to watch his intestines get torn out and played with and Tara _didn't_ die at his hands?"

"Stop!" Willow said, gaping at her other self. "This is horrible."

"Duh! If it wasn't horrible, there'd be no point."

"Look," Willow said, "I'm gonna send you back a few seconds earlier, 'cause the whole you-me dying thing was kinda disturbing, but I'm _not_ gonna ask you to kill anyone."

The vampire gazed at her for a long, drawn-out second. "Fine," she said at last. "I'll do what you want."

"Good," said Willow. She took the empty cup from her vampire.

"So, when can I go home?"

"We'll send you back tomorrow. I need a couple of things from the magic store in town before I can do the spell we need."

"I suppose that'll have to do," said the vampire. "And thank you," she muttered.

Willow grinned. "Did you just say 'thank you'?"

"I _was_ raised with the same manners you were." The smirk that appeared on the vampire's lips held just a shade of mischief. "Now, run along and go fuck yourself sideways with a chainsaw. Preferably a big, rusty one. And then get my bath ready."

* * *

Faith entered Willow's bedroom, clutching a pair of leather pants. "Here, you can borrow these 'til yours get cleaned up a little."

"Not really my color," vampire Willow said, examining the brown leather.

Willow looked at Faith. "But, I'm sure she'll remember to thank you later."

The vampire smirked. "Well, if you insist ..."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "Doin' vamps?" She turned to Willow. "Hey, maybe B would be up for —"

"Ew." Willow scowled at the Slayer then turned to her vampire again. "We'll leave you to take your bath and get changed. I put out fresh towels and a robe. Then I'll have to take you back to the basement 'cause, you know, you're an evil vampire. But, if you like, there's a spare TV in the library I can take down and —"

The vampire released a long, weary-sounding sigh. Willow gave her a crooked smile then she and Faith left the room, closing the door behind them.

"Listen, I need to go get the basement ready again – the sheets down there got kinda muddy. Can you stay here on your own for a minute?"

Faith shrugged. "Sure."

"Thanks. I won't be long."

Ten minutes later, Willow still hadn't returned. Faith knocked on the bedroom door, but there was no answer. Pushing the door open, she quickly scanned the room. Her pants were still lying on the bed along with the black shirt Willow had set out too, and the bathroom door was shut. She crossed the room and gave the door a couple of hard thumps.

"You still in there?" she called, although she could hear the sounds of quiet splashing.

"Is that … Faith?"

"Yep."

Silence for a few seconds, then the vampire spoke again: "Where's Willow?"

"Gettin' your basement suite ready again."

She could hear the sound of water draining away, followed by a soft thud; the vamp stepping out of the tub. Faith turned away and puffed her cheeks out, a heavy breath following close behind. She moved a little closer to the dresser, eyes traveling idly over a hairbrush ... some make up ... a pair of earrings ... moisturizer or something in a little jar ...

"Clean now."

"Huh?" Faith paused and turned around. The vamp was standing in the bathroom doorway, hair damp, wearing that fluffy white and pink robe. Faith glanced round again at the mirror on the dresser, saw only herself reflected back with an empty doorway in the background. She turned back to the vampire. "I'll just step outside, let you get dressed."

A sad little pout appeared. "Oh, you don't wanna leave. What if I ... escape or something?"

Faith cocked her head to the side. "How would you do that?"

"Well, we're on the first floor and there's a window right there." The vampire nodded toward the fitting in question.

Faith shrugged. "So, you escape, then what? You don't get Willow's help and you don't get home."

"Oh, maybe I don't wanna go home so much anymore. It's kinda ... interesting here." The pout turned coy.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it – horny vampire. Give it a rest, willya?"

"Oh, but, you're already doing Fuzzy-Me. So, what's the differ—"

With a speed that surprised even her, Faith wedged her forearm under the vampire's chin and slammed her back against the closet door.

"For some reason, you seem to think I give a fuck when I really don't." She increased the pressure against the vampire's throat. "I've dusted vamps who pissed me off a lot less than you do and I've got no problem pouring your sorry ass out that same window you're jonesin' for, you don't start showin' a bit of respect."

The smirk faded, replaced with a sullen sneer.

"You're only still around 'cause, far as the Scoobies see it, you're practically one of them and they've got all kindsa weird kinks about that stuff. Far as I'm concerned? You just happen to look a lot like the chick I'm fucking and, since I'm one of the good guys now, I'll still be gettin' some when you're blowin' in the wind. We clear about that?"

The vampire nodded stiffly against her arm and Faith took a step back, releasing her.

She was back outside the door when Willow returned a few minutes later.

"That's the basement all sleep-friendly again and, look, I got her a fresh toothbrush." Willow held up the item with a bright smile. "Everything okay?"

Faith pushed the door open. "Five by five."

The vampire wouldn't even look at her as she was taken downstairs.

Later, in the early hours of the morning, while she was fucking the _real_ Willow, the one who regretted the things she'd done as much as Faith did, she tried not to think about what happened when you couldn't be sorry, or about how easy it was sometimes to not _want_ to be sorry. She pushed out thoughts of the monster curled up on a cot in a cage in the basement, and about how she'd almost fucked a soulless vampire once, or what she'd thought was one (she missed Angel so bad sometimes). She tried not to wonder about the ones with souls and if it would be different (Spike, maybe, before she'd realized just how whipped the fucker was, never mind more recent revelations). And she quickly dismissed thoughts of Allan Finch and Lester Wirth and the boy who'd killed Tara and whether he'd begged for mercy before he was stripped of his skin and burned to nothing.

Having a soul didn't mean you couldn't be a monster.

She pushed her fingers further, deeper – careless and rough, not nice-rough – only really aware of what she'd done when Willow sucked in a sharp breath, a flicker of alarm in her eyes. The Slayer focused on the surge of anger crawling under her skin, the cold burn she couldn't always explain to herself, and waited for the sensation to pass.

Willow was looking up at her, the ghost of a smile on her lips, eyes still wary, but insistently trusting. She moved a hand through Faith's hair, fingers working gently through the dark snarls and tangles.

"It's okay, don't worry ..."

Reassurance without lies. Forgiveness, but not pity. They weren't monsters. Not anymore. But, it was a long road and sorry was hard.

Faith eased out gently, smoothed away a lock of hair from the other woman's forehead, kept her own eyes open while she kissed her, so soft it made her wonder if Willow even realized their lips had touched. Faith felt the contact like a warm breeze drifting in from the desert to thaw the cold.

"I'm sorry."

Sometimes hard.

She relaxed. She could do this.

* * *

Buffy held on to vampire Willow's right arm, while Faith took hold of the left.

"You sure you don't wanna snap some cuffs on her?" Faith asked.

The vampire sighed. "Now you wanna bring out the toys? Just when I'm goin' home too."

Willow saw Faith tighten her hold, but say nothing as she and Buffy guided the vampire out of the cage.

"So, you ready, Will?" asked Buffy. "Got everything you need?"

Willow nodded. "Uh-huh. Just about done."

The vampire sat down cross-legged at the edge of the circle, hands resting on her knees. She actually looked excited, bouncing a little while she watched Willow set out the rest of the paraphernalia.

"So … this is gonna work the way you told me it was?" said the vampire.

Willow flashed a quick glance at the Slayers standing beside them. "Yeah, just like I explained."

"Good." A sly grin crept across the vampire's pale face. "Oh, and, by the way, if you see Sandy, tell her I said hi."

Willow looked at her other self. "Huh?"

"Never mind," the vampire said, rolling her eyes. "You probably wouldn't appreciate it anyway."

Willow finished setting up. "Well, good luck … again."

"Yeah, good luck with your crappy taste in Slayers. You'll need it."

Buffy looked at Faith. "I thought she liked you … in a creepy sort of way."

Faith shrugged. "Yeah, well … crazy vamp logic."

Willow started the spell and, seconds later, in a flash of yelloworangewhitelight, her other self was gone.

"So, you think she'll make it this time?" Faith asked, as Willow rose to her feet. "I mean, three seconds isn't that long, even with a heads-up."

Willow hesitated. "Uh … I kinda sent her back a few seconds earlier." Before the other two women could say anything, she hastened on: "The dying thing freaked me out, okay? Plus, if I sent her back at the exact same time, there was always a chance she might bounce back here … you know, with the whole time and space thingy? It's kinda complicated. Like magic is sometimes."

The two Slayers were eyeing her a little uneasily, then, finally, Faith shrugged.

"Well, I guess whatever happens, so long as B keeps her piehole shut about wishes and shit, she won't be back."

"It was _one _wish, Faith," sighed Buffy. "I've learned, I've grown, I won't be doing that again."

"Fine, whatever." Faith yawned and stretched, folding her arms behind her head, then announced she was going to her room to shut her eyes for a couple of hours. When she left the basement, Buffy turned to Willow.

"I'm glad you're sticking around."

"Yeah, me too. You know, the more I think about it, the more I think it woulda been a really bad idea to go back, even for just a little while."

"You mean 'cause of Tara?"

"Well, that, yeah, but also, hanging out with other-Me? She's kinda bossy and really mean. Plus, there's the whole different Sunnydale thing. As deeply unpleasant as some of my memories are, I wouldn't want the scales to tip too heavily away from the good stuff."

Buffy looked at her, curious. "Just out of interest, how much _did_ you see during that spell?"

"Like I said, a few seconds maybe," Willow said with a shrug, then grinned. "You_ did_ look kinda dykey."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Will, I beg you, please don't tell Faith. I've already handed her enough material to last until … the next screw up. Hey, maybe you can tell her your vampire lied – I was wearing a nice dress or something."

Willow smiled. "I'll see what I can do."

They cleared away the spell implements, then made their way up the basement steps.

"So," said Buffy. "Who's Sandy?"

* * *

The vampire took only a couple of seconds to adjust to the new surroundings that weren't really new, only now she had time to make the most of that adjustment. She ducked and took a step to the side, letting the White Hat stumble past her and catch hold of the wooden bars of the cell to stop himself from falling, long enough for her to reach out and snap his neck, his small body crumpling to the floor like a broken doll. Thrusting her elbow into the other, larger, White Hat's face behind her, she heard a satisfying crunch of bone just before he let forth a howl of agony and fell to his knees. With a smile, she stepped over another body on the floor and stood for a moment, surveying the scene before her, watching as the Master twisted the Slayer's head in his hands and Buffy Summers took her last breath.

So, the Slayer was dead, which was good, and Puppy was dusted, which wasn't so good, but the Master was winning and, she supposed, sacrifices had to be made. Also not of the good was Xander. Gone – her best friend in the whole world. Her only friend. But she'd give herself time to mourn for him later. Right now, she needed to focus on finishing things up here so she could take some well-deserved vacation time and use it for her own more personal mission.

One lame turn deserved another, after all, and since her other self had done her the courtesy of returning her a few seconds earlier than her original re-arrival time, honoring Fuzzy-Me's unspoken request was probably the least she could do. If she was honest, the sheer audacity of her other self had impressed her; she hadn't bothered to look even mildly affronted by how transparent she was: _I'm not going to ask you to kill anyone. _Well, no, not when the offer had already been made. And the way Fuzzy-Me had looked at her, that tiny glimmer of dark desire in her eyes as the vampire told her outright that she'd do what she wanted, well, that was just precious.

And, the vampire thought, once she'd located Warren Mears and eviscerated him with excruciating care, she could go track down dear, sweet, not-dead Tara Maclay, see if she could gently bring her round to her way of thinking.

Now _that_ was gonna be fun.


	23. Finales: Slipping Away

**FINALES: SLIPPING AWAY**

Xander watched his knuckles clench until the white showed through, gritting his teeth as he gained purchase. Pausing to take a breath, he heard the quiet squeak of rubber soles against the tiled surface behind him.

"Need a hand there?"

"It's okay, I've got it." He didn't look round, just turned his wrist, felt the nut tighten, then stop. Dropping the wrench back into the box with a sharp _clunk_, he lifted the shower frame into the socket and shook it lightly.

Faith crouched down beside him, skin glistening with sweat, dark patches staining her tee-shirt. She unwrapped the tape from around her knuckles as she took in his handiwork.

"Thanks for fixin' that."

"Thanks for letting me know."

Her eyes settled on his profile for a couple of seconds, then, with a quiet sigh, she stood up straight again, pushing sweat-damp hair away from her face. He closed the box and rose to his feet in front of her, stood there, waiting for her to say something. But, she was looking past him – blank, unreadable – almost like she'd forgotten he was there.

Finally, her eyes found him again and she released a breath he was certain only a nearby dog might have heard. "Is this gonna turn into some kinda personal deal? 'Cause, I gotta tell ya —"

"It feels kind of personal." Hard not to get sucked in when he was sure he deserved something more, something better. Even when the part of his brain that _didn't_ need to hear it for himself was screaming at him to leave it alone.

Faith studied him and he was suddenly fearful that she could see every thought. But, the furrowed brow, the tilted head told him she was simply turning her options over: how to let him leave with at least _someone's_ dignity intact.

She smiled and for a moment there was hope. But, the words doused the flicker like a match dropped in a pool of dirty rainwater:

"It's got nothin' to do with you, Xander. I like her, that's all. It's no big." Then, carefully, as if she might bruise him, Faith slugged him on the shoulder, cracking a grin that didn't quite make it. "Now, c'mon, need a little privacy here. Gotta get cleaned up."

He blinked, almost heard the wet click as his eyelid snapped shut like some bastardized rendition of an old-time camera shutter, and he remembered. Sure, she cared that he was part of the gang when she came back to help fight the First. She cared when he lost his eye. He'd even caught her watching him with something that looked a lot like sympathy after Sunnydale. But, when it came to their Big Moment, to the stuff that didn't simply come with familiarity or a shred of common humanity or even psychopathic contempt: _indifference_. The word that had eluded him all this time. No wonder they hadn't talked. Not much to say when the only acknowledgements in four-odd years had been a bitchy joke he hadn't even realized _she_ was telling at the time, and whenever she'd wanted to shut up his girlfrie—

_Don't forget the little modifier at the start. Modifiers; plural._

Xander turned away, leaving the shower room as quietly as Faith had come in. When he got outside, he walked toward the small garden he'd built for his best friend, who hadn't told him about Tara either, just let it come out during a four-way mindfuck. Always 'one of the girls' until it came to the stuff they thought he couldn't handle. Now she just had to remind him how different things were, in case he ever forgot: _"I'm over you now, sweetie."_

Stopping in front of the fence, his eye traced the letters on the inscription while he thought about the only woman who'd ever _really_ seen him, who'd wanted everything he had to give, then he walked back to the house and went upstairs to his room. Shutting the door behind him, Xander climbed onto his bed and lay back. The patch came off, cool air from the A/C unit stirring inside the hollow crazy-quilt of tissue.

Pillow fights and hooker-wear: his best friend and her new girl friend; horny little groupies just getting warmed up, waiting for him to show them how it's _really_ done, waiting for him to satisfy them both, the way only a man like him could (not enough stamina? never a problem, not in his world). Didn't matter what they said, what they did, how powerful they were, what choices they'd made. Because, deep down, that's what they all wanted, wasn't it? They _needed_ guys like him to make it count, to make it worthwhile.

That was normal, right? Something to dream about, to wake up to, while that almighty surge of blood and power brought him to life down below. Because the other stuff – the stuff that wasn't worth dreaming about – he didn't (want to) understand.

_(Scared, insecure little boy.)_

Xander closed his eye and waited, grateful for the gulping breaths he was suddenly forced to take as a shallow laugh escaped from high up in his throat – a little sour, but a laugh nonetheless – and finally, at last, hot tears squeezed through onto his lashes and scored a damp trail across his skin onto the pillow beneath his head.

Faith didn't need Willow. And Willow definitely didn't need Faith.

But, maybe now he could move on.

* * *

On her way to Greece, during a stopover in London, Kennedy bought a new leather jacket; retail therapy, the effect lasting only as long as it took to pay for it. Later that night, she went to a club and, after a few rounds of expensive scotch that she didn't really like, took a girl back to her hotel room. Rebound sex, even if it wasn't exactly your own rebound you were indulging, was supposed to be good for, if not the soul, then for keeping your sense of self balanced or something; for making you not feel like a loser. Part of her even felt like she was punishing Willow, even while she was aware it wasn't much of a punishment, since Willow would never find out how easily Kennedy was getting over it by having awkward sex with a complete stranger who kept asking her if she was okay.

Afterwards, she just felt lousy. Well, not _just_ lousy; there was a small spark of optimism telling her that if nice girls from London liked her enough to come back to her hotel room and be concerned about her welfare, then it probably meant she wasn't a hopeless case and she would most likely get over it, sooner or later, with her ego largely intact.

It was just, she wanted to feel better about it than she did. Willow hadn't meant to hurt her, sure, but that didn't mean the thing with Faith didn't still hurt. And having sex with a stranger in an effort to prove how _not_ hurt she was ... well, that kind of spoke for itself, didn't it? Which was probably why they called it 'rebound sex' and not 'hey-I'm-totally-over-what's-happened-and-I-don't- mean-that-in-an-ironic-way sex'. The overall effect was that she felt a _little_ better, but still a bit bruised. And, although she was sure the bruising would fade in time, it was still fresh enough to make her feel a little out of sorts and not in the best of moods.

She collected her bag, walked to the arrivals lounge, and stopped.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Willow smiled, nervous and a little shy. "Thought I'd come pick you up. Here, I mean. From the airport. Pick you up from the airport."

Kennedy kept the tiny grin she felt coming on under wraps. Babbling about accidental pick-up innuendos was _not_ cute. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to, 'cause, you know, I want us to be friends and friends pick each other up from the airport."

"I thought we were already friends."

"Well … I haven't been a very good friend. I guess I've been kind of avoidy lately."

The Droopy Eyes of Guilt were too much for even the most determined stoic to handle. Kennedy let the grin do its thing after all. "Don't you just hate ex-girlfriend awkwardness?"

"We'll get over it." Willow returned the smile as they headed to the parking lot.

As they drove home and Willow asked about her trip (How was the new girl? How cool was the Parthenon? How annoying was Andrew? How was Cleveland? How was Giles?) Kennedy began rifling through her hand luggage. She saw Willow eye her nervously.

"Don't worry, I didn't buy you anything. But, here ..." She produced a carton of cigarettes. "I wasn't sure if it was still okay. I mean, now that you and —"

"No, it's ... it's fine." Willow cocked an eyebrow. "How horrible are they?"

"Pretty bad, I think."

"Good." Her ex-girlfriend smiled. "And ... thanks."

They passed the golden arches, the lights from the strip cutting through the dark inside the car. Kennedy blinked at the flash that appeared on the lapel of Willow's jacket.

She still hadn't told her about Auschwitz.

She would one day, but not now.

Kennedy dropped the carton back into her bag. "It's nothing."

* * *

Dawn finished checking her French history report one last time for typos then, satisfied that the Romans hadn't invaded Britney, hit the 'print' icon. Shutting down the laptop, she picked up her backpack and left the library. She could hear the hum of the printer as she unlocked Willow's office door, saw the pages churning out onto the tray as she stepped inside and set her bag on top of the desk, reaching out to steady the picture it bumped against, the one Willow had made a copy of that Dawn had stuck on the new pictureboard in her bedroom.

Faith was in the rec room, playing some video game. Lots of explosions and burning rubber.

"Have you seen Willow?"

The Slayer tilted her head back over the top of the chair. "She'll be by in a couple minutes." She raised the joystick above her shoulder. "Don't suppose you wanna try this out?"

"No thanks."

More screeching and some sharp banging noises. Then it stopped and the chair swiveled to the side a little. Faith leaned round to look at her. "We're goin' to the movies tomorrow night. You wanna come?"

Dawn shrugged.

Faith grinned. "There could be candy of some descrip—"

"I'm not a kid," said Dawn, then cringed at how very much like a kid that had made her sound.

"I know that. I meant for me, doofus."

In spite of herself, Dawn smiled. "Okay, yeah. I guess so."

Willow came in then. Dawn handed her the keys to her office, while Faith shut off the PlayStation; better things to do now, Dawn supposed. Probably involving hot and heavy smoochies, lots of groping and/or grinding, then Faith trying to persuade Willow to take up post-sexytimes smoking.

When they left the room, Dawn picked up a magazine and opened it. Paused as she heard Faith in the hallway:

"I was thinkin', if you're feelin' up to it, we could go to the movies tomorrow night. Thought Dawn might wanna come too …"

Dawn frowned, confused, closing the magazine over again, her mind churning, then almost her stomach too when she figured it out. Funny how she'd had the date circled in her head for a couple of weeks now, but she hadn't put it together when Faith asked.

A small prickly sensation wormed its way up inside and settled behind her eyes – hot, sharp, stinging. But, she held it back. Faith was done playing mind games and trying to steal other people's identities, wasn't she? Robin had been proof enough that she was at least capable of behaving like a normal person. So, maybe it was just a nice thought.

Weirder things had happened.

* * *

Willow found herself telling Faith things she'd never told anyone before. Nothing earth-shattering, but, sometimes late at night, when the room was soft with lamplight and shadows, while Faith held her in that stiff, awkward way that seemed a little less stiff and awkward each time, Willow talked to her about Tara, spilling memories and stories out into a realm of the semi-public domain that she knew could be trusted to treat them with care and just the right degree of reverence.

Sometimes Faith listened so quietly, the only way Willow knew she was awake was the feel of fingers sliding through her hair and across her back; other times, depending on which parts of her life Willow felt moved to divulge, Faith laughed or asked questions or offered blunt-but-sincere comments that would have made Tara smile.

Faith didn't tell her much in return; Willow still wasn't sure when exactly her mother died or what prison was really like. Instead, any carefully approached enquiry was headed off at the pass with a quick smile or a not-so-quick kiss or a conveniently sudden thirst that required a sneaky trip to the refrigerator. Willow didn't push it – theirs wasn't _that_ kind of a relationship anyway – and the one-sidedness that had the potential to make her feel all kinds of selfish was something she was mostly happy to overlook for the time being.

Now, Willow returned the easy smile directed at her as Faith, bearer of the scent of fresh and familiar shower gel, pulled her chair out and sat down. With a tilt of her head, the Slayer motioned to the plate in the center of the table.

"What are these, pancakes? D'you make 'em, B?"

"Yes, Faith, I did. And if you don't want any, you don't have to —"

"What the hell you gettin' so uptight about? All I said —"

"It was the _way_ you said it ..."

"Will you two quit it?" Dawn chimed in. "Jeez ..."

Kennedy sniggered and Willow started to smile again, her eyes finding Xander. He was already gazing back at her, the wounded expression burning a hole where once it might have melted her heart instead.

It had been on the tip of her tongue ever since he found out: _please, just let me have this_. The best she could come up with, torn between friendship that should mean she could talk to him about anything, and the desire to leave the molehill molehill-sized. But, she was too content right now to give into guilt she didn't feel, or listen to judgments and petty accusations she couldn't be bothered arguing about; or to tolerate wise counsel with more than just a hint of double-standard, or smile at any tacky little half-jokes he felt compelled to share.

Too content to let him twist it into something it wasn't, to take it away from her somehow.

He just needed time. Besides, avoidance was a long-standing Scooby tradition.

Willow looked away again and stared down at her syrup-drenched breakfast.

"What's up?"

"Sorry?"

Faith was looking at her, smirking slightly, gesturing to Willow's plate with her knife. "I mean, they're probably not _that_ bad ..."

"Oh. Yeah. It's fine."

The Slayer glanced to the side, past Kennedy, the smirk slowly fading.

As Willow headed toward her room after breakfast, he followed her, catching her up in the hallway. The hand he placed on her shoulder bore the weight of concern more than accusation; still enough to provoke a tiny flare of irritation, but she held her tongue. This was classic-mixed-with-grown-up Xander, cautious but determined to be heard nonetheless:

"Will, I just —" He faltered, mouth open slightly as he took his hand away again; maybe something in the way she'd looked at him. "I just want you to be happy."

Not_ just_ that; there were other sentiments too, good and bad, behind what used to be a pair of soft brown eyes. Still, it was enough for now. It always was.

Willow smiled, obligatory and cheerless. "Yeah, me too." Some traditions, even the dumb ones, were worth preserving, especially on days like today.

When she reached her room, she brushed her teeth, checked her make-up and straightened her dress.

Faith was sitting on the porch steps. Glancing up, her eyes paused where Willow's fist was loosely curled around a collection of small stones. The Slayer let go of a stream of smoke as she dropped her cigarette on the ground and rose to her feet.

"Paperwork's not gonna write itself ..."

Willow released the invitation with a tentative breath: "You could come too. I mean, if you want."

A few seconds passed as the other woman squinted across the yard. "I don't think so," she said, finally.

Willow tried a small smile. "I think she'd like to see you. I mean, the you who looks like you."

"Kinda like a proper introduction this time?"

"Yeah, something like that."

Another pause, then a surprisingly soft gaze met her own. "Not today. You should have some time alone."

Willow thought about saying something else, trying another approach, but, other than whiny pleading, nothing came to her.

"Then could you ... d'you think you could wait here?"

A tiny frown indented the Slayer's brow.

"I mean, it'd be nice. You know, if you could do that."

With a small shrug, Faith sat down again, elbows resting on her knees.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, cool. Now, go see your girl."

As she headed across the yard, Willow glanced back at the dark figure on the porch, the Slayer's gaze steady, peaceful, even as her fingers twitched reflexively around a pack of cigarettes. She remembered the night just passed, those same fingers buried knuckle-deep to a soundtrack of grunted obscenities and other less intelligible utterances; and a couple of hours later, strong arms holding her and different words, soothing and strange to hear, when she woke up, shaking, from a dream of happiness blown away by a stray bullet.

Willow turned away from the eyes of a cold-blooded killer who didn't deserve forgiveness, a big slut who threw people away like used tissues, a sociopath who thought only of how much pain and misery she could inflict on the people around her.

Remembered a picture on the desk, where she could see it.

She entered the small square, a haven of quiet and calm. Except right now, it didn't feel so different from the world she'd left behind.

With a smile, she approached the headstone. "Hey, it's me ..."

* * *

" ... and from the results we're getting, and the reports from the new girls, things seem to be going very well indeed." Giles leaned back in his chair and looked at her. "What do you think, Faith?"

"Yeah, cool. Got no complaints."

"Ooh, watch that enthusiasm, it might be infectious." The smile Buffy directed at her was pretty much the same one she'd been pushing at every opportunity since she found out her best bud was getting her kicks with a slutty former psycho. The kind of smile that said: _I really don't like this, but I was brought up with good manners and shit and anyway I like screwing vamps, so I can't really talk._

Which, credit where it's due.

Still the kind of smile that might get on a person's tits, but Faith found herself smiling a little in return.

The library door opened then and Willow came in. "Are you guys finished?"

Giles glanced at the two Slayers for confirmation. "Yes, I believe so."

Willow grinned back at the Watcher. "Can we do it now?"

Faith looked at Buffy, who shrugged in reply as Willow pulled up a chair, while Giles reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out an envelope.

"I would have passed this on to you a couple of days ago, but we thought it best to give you the news in person."

Faith took the envelope, her name on the front, with a private Cleveland address under it. "What's this?"

"I had to pull in favors from a couple of … less than reputable sources, but I think you'll be pleased."

She pulled the letter free from the opened envelope and unfolded it. Started to read. After a couple of lines, she looked at the former librarian. "Not sure I'm gettin' the gist here exactly. Kinda long-winded. D'you write this?"

"No." Giles frowned a little as he pointed at the official-looking seal on the envelope. "It's from Washington. You're to be granted commutation, Faith."

"Commu-what?"

"It's a little like a pardon. Basically, you're no longer a wanted fugitive."

She looked at him. "For real?"

The Watcher nodded, one of those excited little grins on his face, like whenever someone mentioned tea or the Queen. "Until we can get your conviction overturned – and we're waiting to hear back from an even _less_ reputable source about that – in light of your actions during the recent 'emergencies' in Los Angeles and Sunnydale, it's been decided you've served an appropriate sentence."

A twist in her gut then. It wasn't fucking 'appropriate'. 'Appropriate' would be if she turned a corner one day and some chick stuck a piece of wood in her chest, then dumped the body and tried to pin it on someone else; or some girl came to her apartment who reckoned sticking a knife in someone's gut was a decent price for a little affection from a guy old enough to call 'daddy' a few times over.

She looked at Buffy. _Huh_.

Then again, beggars couldn't be choosers and she'd always known she shouldn't go back to jail. No point. Couldn't help save the world stuck in an eight-by-ten concrete box, counting the hours until recess in the yard or shitty movie nights.

"That's awesome, Faith," said Buffy, phony smile still welded on; but, Christ, she actually sounded like she meant it.

Faith looked at Willow then. The girl was beaming back at her, excitement gleaming like shiny pennies behind her eyes. She'd be wired that night; not a bad thing. Wired meant fucking until the dark shade on the bedroom window blocked out next day's sunshine.

So, all in all, she really _didn't_ have much to complain about.

"Damn," said Willow, a tiny frown crossing her forehead. "I left the camera in my office. I was gonna take a picture."

Buffy reached across the table, nudged Faith's arm with the back of her hand. "And, hey, now you don't have to be so brooding and moody all the time."

Faith scowled. Okay, now that _was _fucking annoying. She turned back to Willow and, man, she really didn't want to, but old habits and all: "That's okay, Will. You don't have to use those kinda pictures for your personal use. Not now you've got your hands on the real thing."

Buffy's smile vanished, Willow's face colored slightly, and Giles blinked and looked around the table, cheerful but clueless.

"Sorry … am I missing something?"

* * *

Buffy knocked. Then waited. Then knocked again. Louder this time. When no reply was forthcoming, she went downstairs to the back hallway and stood outside Willow's room, where a shaft of warm lamplight peeked through the gap at the bottom of the door. She listened for a moment, then, satisfied that she wouldn't be interrupting anything that might well land her on a therapist's couch, she raised her hand to give the door a couple of polite knocks.

Then stopped, just before her fist made contact.

She'd seen Willow leave the house earlier that evening to return some books to the library in town, but she could be back by now, and just because Buffy couldn't hear anything, it didn't mean nothing was going on. For all she knew, Faith might have invented some quietly brooding form of ... activity. It wouldn't surprise her; Faith would probably consider it a huge triumph if she managed to avoid having to say anything between _How about it?_ and _Wasn't I great?_

With a sigh, she turned around again and headed back upstairs, this time to the library to find a pen and something to write on. A book of fairy tale stories lay open on the table, courtesy of an untidy newbie, she suspected. Either that, or someone was researching the possibility of mysterious puncture marks on Sleeping Beauty's neck. She returned the book to its rightful place and went back to her search for some stationery.

This really wasn't the happy ending she'd wanted for Willow. The one she wanted was where the princess fell in love with another princess and there were brightly colored cartoon birds on their window ledge and maybe a few friendly dwarfs dancing around waving sleigh bells or something. Instead, Buffy was stuck with some grimmer-than-Grimm version where Faith was the wicked someone-or-other who the princess wanted to … do stuff with. Probably while all the woodland creatures freaked out about it.

The door to the library opened and Willow came in, jacket on, apparently just back from town.

"Oh, hey, Buffy." She gestured to the large rolls of paper in her arms. "New maps. Thought they might be useful."

"Yeah, maps are … great."

Willow began filing the diagrams away in a large case. "So, what'cha doin' in here?"

"Uh, I was gonna leave a note for Faith. That new girl got kinda weepy tonight and I wanted to let her know before she sees her tomorrow."

"You were gonna write her a note? Why didn't you just tell her?"

"I wasn't sure if … I mean … she wasn't in her room. And I didn't know if you were back yet."

"Oh." Willow smiled, quick and a tiny bit awkward.

"So, could you …?"

Willow nodded rapidly. "Yeah, sure, I'll … yeah." She finished putting the maps away then closed the case over and looked at Buffy, lips pressed together in a determined semi-smile. She inhaled a deep breath through her nose, apparently prepping herself for something important. "Listen, I was thinkin' we could maybe go out tomorrow? It's two-for-one night plus, you know, dancing and general fun-ness."

"You and me?"

Willow hesitated. "Well … and Faith? The three of us?"

A whole catalogue of potential excuses started whirring through Buffy's brain like an over-excited rolodex, while she desperately tried to ignore the hopeful, imploring look she could see in Willow's eyes. But, apparently sucking it up was going to involve even more suckage than she'd first anticipated, and she wasn't going to let her best friend slip away again, especially not over this.

Buffy shut the Excuse-Finder down and put her best under-duress smile forward.

"Yeah, sounds like fun," she said.

And even if the smile Willow returned wasn't exactly one hundred percent convincing either, it was reward enough for both of them.

They parted ways at the top of the stairs. Buffy waited until Willow was on the first floor and she could hear her footsteps disappear down the back hallway, then made her way across the landing. At the end of the corridor, she found herself once again standing outside the bedroom door across from her own. Hesitating for a second, she pushed it open and stuck her head inside the darkened room. Peach walls, catalog furniture, a small double bed, and a window that looked out onto the parking area at the front of the house. Apart from the neatly made-up sheets and pillows on the bed, it was exactly the same as when she'd first seen it.

Not even a pair of boots on the floor.

**END**

**LET IT BLEED**

* * *

**AN:** Many thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, followed and/or PM'd me with further thoughtful comments - and extra special thanks to anyone who stuck with it to the end. This was a labor of love/obsessive fangirling/slight pretentiousness/avoidance of other things I could have been doing at the time, and I sincerely appreciate the effort taken to read it and hope it (mostly) worked for you.

As noted in the summary, _Let It Bleed_ is merely the start of the Wickedgeekyverse, a trilogy of sorts that I started to write a long time ago. The next installment, _Beggars Banquet_, is currently undergoing some final editing; once that's done, chapters will be posted at a similar rate to _Let It Bleed_. Until then, I'll be posting a few random BtVS and Wickedgeeky-adjacent one-shots that have also been languishing on my laptop.

Thanks again.

elviswhataguy


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